Patience
by Glenstorm
Summary: Qui-Gon is forced to choose a second Padawan after the tragic loss of his first. A retelling of the events of 'The Rising Force' from Qui-Gon's POV. Inspired by Take That's song 'Patience'.
1. Prologue

**_Patience_**

_**Prologue**_

_**Planet Corulag, Core world:**_

Tarlock Egon had expected his short business trip to Coruscant to be as uneventful as always. It was a journey he had made many times in his career. He had bidden farewell to his family on the landing pad, his wife standing outside the space shuttle as tearful as ever, despite the fact that he would only be gone for two standard days.

She had never trusted space travel and her terror kept her firmly on the ground. If his business trips to Coruscant weren't such a vital necessity to their livelihood, he suspected he too would be banned from taking these trips to the Capital. Time and again he had assured her that no pirates operated within the short distance between Corulag and Coruscant. Corulag was Coruscant's closest planetary neighbour along the Perlemian Trade Route and not even the most lawless Torgorian would dare venture so far into the interior of Republic space. On the Capital's door step? They would have to be crazy. Tarlock rolled his eyestalks.

But his assurances never hit their mark and he was forced to effect patience at every parting.

Never mind, he would be back soon and then she would be happy. Tarlock settled himself into the passenger seating amidst a large gaggle of buzzing tourists and shrugged it all from his mind, beginning to switch off in preparation for the long, boring overnight ride to Coruscant. The inevitable late arrivals dribbled on board until the plush passenger seats of the space shuttle were filled with chattering beings of all shapes, sizes and colours. Take off would follow shortly.

But the minutes crept on by and still there was no stirring from the craft's steady engines. Tarlock heaved a sigh as he began to feel the first twinges of impatience. Really, he was used to the inconsiderate stragglers but this was taking the space biscuit. Who in the galaxy was holding them up this long?

Tarlock twisted his eyestalks towards the boarding ramp, which was still open and allowing the late summer breeze to waft in. At first he could see nothing, then, all of a sudden, a long shadow fell across the short, metal ramp, cutting though the golden light of the setting sun. Tarlock's impatience fell dead and a nervous prickle stole up his spine as the shadow was followed by a tall, cloaked figure. His eyes followed it, fixated for some unknown reason, as it came striding smoothly up the landing ramp. The long, dark brown cloak and deep hood rendered the person impossible to identify. The late comer was definitely humanoid but all else was left to the imagination. Even the hands were tucked out of sight, lost in long, voluminous sleeves.

The stranger paused in the doorway to speak in low tones to the uniformed attendant. Tarlock's curiosity was peeked still further when, after just a few words, the young attendant straightened in respect and pointed the figure towards the passenger seating. Surely the attendant should have turned the late comer away. The shuttle was full.

Mystified, Tarlock watched the tall figure as he stepped away from the landing ramp and started towards the seats. His mind was working overtime, trying to place the stranger. A person of some importance? Tarlock couldn't imagine who. Senators and planetary leaders wouldn't usually deign to travel on such a humble passenger ship. They were rich enough to afford their own grand transports, riding in the lap of luxury whenever their duties carried them from their respective homeworlds.

On the other hand, this man certainly had the air of a king. His presence, even cloaked, radiated a quiet power, commanding attention. One by one the other passengers fell silent as a long, graceful stride carried the stranger down the isle on silent feet. A few pointed and murmured amongst themselves.

It was then that Tarlock realised just what he was looking at and very nearly dropped his briefcase.

It all fit. The dark robe. The aura of power that prickled the skin.

A Jedi! He was staring at nothing less than a Jedi Knight!

Never in all his days of travelling to Coruscant had he even caught a glimpse of one of these mysterious wizards. But he didn't need to be slapped in the face to know that he was looking at one right now. The stranger appeared exactly like all the holo films and stories promised. His children were crazy over them. An ancient piece in the very fabric of society. If rarely seen by many.

Tarlock's mouth gaped open.

He was actually sharing a ship with a living legend! Excitedly he recalled all that he knew of these sword wielding peace keepers and wondered how much of it was true. Were they truly wizards like people claimed? Could they really manipulate a great unseen power? Or the 'Force' as they liked to call it. It was whispered that they could harness its energy to do almost anything.

True or not, with these Jedi keeping the peace there hadn't been a full scale war in the Republic for over a thousand years. Tarlock's eyestalks waved slightly. That was quite a feat. Based on the rare sightings, there couldn't be all that many of them and it was a vast galaxy. To most beings the legendary feats of the Jedi were just that, legends, and fine fodder for all the trashy adventure novels ever written. Much to his children's delight.

Tarlock stared at the very real Knight moving in front of him now, feeling the presence radiate like an almost tangible thing. Was this one just returning to his Temple after saving the day in some distant part of the galaxy? The Temple of the Jedi Order had stood on Coruscant for centuries uncounted.

The great building was situated not far from the Republic Senate itself. A good position to be in if you needed to keep a finger on the pulse of the Galaxy. But aside from its location, nothing much else was known about the Temple. It was a place where outsiders were forbidden to tread. There were whisperings that it held a vast array of relics and priceless treasures. Secrets from bygone ages. Many would give their right arm for a glimpse of the inside. Tarlock supposed the rumours to be true. The Temple was thousands of years old and was bound to contain valuable pieces from the forgotten past. But he doubted the riches in the Temple were the glittering objects that most considered to be treasures. Even from the little he knew of the Jedi, Tarlock guessed they didn't hold much in store by luxuries. No, their treasure would be wrapped up in knowledge and learned wisdom, he was sure.

Tarlock dismissed the argument; he had never been interested in any of that anyway. As a father it was the subject of children that bothered him most. As far as he could gather, Jedi were forbidden to marry. Forbidden family or any sort of attachment. Some obscure part of their Code he imagined. The Jedi continued their religion through children claimed from around the galaxy. Children with _potential_. Their real families gave them up to the Order when they were identified as 'special'. Most never saw them again.

Tarlock was glad he had never had to make such a choice. The choice of giving his children to the Jedi, or keeping them and risking the ensuing confusion and loss of control when their abilities developed without guidance.

He had never had to make it, but he had faced it. As members of the Republic, his children were obliged to undergo a test shortly after birth. Like many families it was the closest brush he had ever had with the Order. His children had been checked for high levels of…of medi… medi-chlorians, was it? Apparently if beings possessed a high level of these things in their cells then they had a greater sensitivity to the great power – the 'Force'.

None of Tarlock's children had even registered on the scale. They possessed no Force talent whatsoever, much to his relief. Maybe that was why there were so few Knights. He couldn't imagine many parents wanting to give up their young to the Jedi. Even if it was for the greater good.

He spared a moment to feel sorry for the ones who did and had, then turned his thoughts back to the present subject of his curiosity.

The Jedi had not moved to sit with the other passengers; instead he'd gone straight to the front of the large cabin and was standing apart from them. There was no indication that he would even sit at all. He had settled where he stood.

As Tarlock continued to watch, a travel pack dropped to the Jedi's feet from one broad shoulder, then large, calloused hands came up, drawing back the concealing hood, letting it fall from the high head to blend in with the rest of the brown folds. The length of the robe fell open as the man's long arms dropped to his sides, giving Tarlock his first glimpse of what lay beneath.

He was human, and his long body was dressed in a layering of plain, tan tunics that covered him from his torso down to the knees. The layers of pale material looked comfortable and well worn, all bound in place by a cloth sash of the same colour wound tightly around the lean waist and secured with a leather utility belt. Long, sturdy boots went over loose fitting dark brown pants to complete the outfit.

The layers of brown and tan material were thick and nondescript but the Jedi's body still managed to speak of pure athleticism and strength, rising up until his head nearly brushed the ceiling.

The facial features were strong and broad, trimmed with the chin fur that many of the human species seemed to favour. A thick mane of brown hair fell just past his shoulders. The upper half was bound by a leather tie, keeping it from his face. A few streaks of distinguishing grey shot through the brown mass. A sign of age among humans.

The face itself was set in chiselled lines, betraying no thought or emotion. He would long ago have been shaped into something beyond the ordinary. An untouchable warrior. A heart filled with, not love, but wisdom and cool reason above the heads of ordinary mortals. One ready to draw his laser sword and lay down his life in defence of the innocent at a moment's notice.

Or so the stories lead one to believe. Tarlock tilted his head, trying to see something beneath the stern mask. There must be an actual person under that all that, mustn't there? The man was human after all.

Tarlock noted that the proud nose stood slightly crooked beneath the high brow, as though it had been broken several times. A thin, stern mouth could be seen through the neat beard, set like one that didn't smile often. Tarlock had taken the rugged features in at a glance but it was the man's eyes that drew him in and kept his attention. Deep set and dark blue, they appeared to hold the experience of the universe and all its weight therein. Laugh lines long faded trailed along the pale skin, indicating joy once known but long since forgotten.

He had been through a lot, this one. Tarlock decided that the grey wasn't all down to years. He felt relief again at his children's lack of Force talent.

Did this Jedi have any memories of his real family? Probably not.

He tore his gaze away from the Jedi's face before his scrutiny was noticed. He settled his eyes once again on the polished leather belt—and jumped. Any remaining doubts he had to this man's identity evaporated in to thin air. A black and silver cylinder was clipped at the trim waist. Large enough to be grasped comfortably in both of the mighty hands, it hung close against the Jedi's left thigh and within easy reach.

The hilt of a lightsaber.

Tarlock shuddered in wonder and not a little fear. He knew enough to recognise the weapon of a Jedi when he saw one. The laser of the sword's blade when activated was recorded to be able to cut through any object, any material. Iron, steel. Flesh and bone. It could take your head off in an instant. It would take a Jedi's powers to wield such a thing. Anyone else would be liable to cut off their own foot. It was said they were trained to use them from their first steps and, once fully trained, could handle the blade with such precision that they could sizzle a fly out of the air before one could so much as blink an eyelid. Jedis' reputation as fighters was deadly and unsurpassed. No known single warrior could stand against a Jedi Knight and win. Maybe even an army warriors if the vids were to be believed.

Looking at the man before him, Tarlock could very much believe it. Keeping the peace could be ironically violent, it seemed. His gaze travelled to the deep eyes again. He wondered who had ever gotten close enough to break this one's nose.

Tarlock flinched when the blue eyes turned suddenly and stared directly into his. The Jedi must have sensed his scrutiny and did not care for it. Stern and impassable, the eyes went straight through him. It felt to Tarlock as if all his deepest secrets were suddenly laid bare for the Jedi to see and judge. Shaken, he tore his gaze away. That gaze had probably boiled better psyches than his own. In that moment he could well imagine how many a troublesome leader had been brought to the negotiating table. He certainly wouldn't consider starting a war when faced with _that_.

He was very _very_ glad these Jedi were the good guys. Though, he had heard it wasn't unknown for some of them to turn bad….

Tarlock shuddered and was careful to keep his eyes down after that. It was also said that Jedi could read and control minds if they wished and he definitely didn't want _that_.

_**The Jedi Temple, Coruscant:**_

Long laser blades flashed through the charged air of the darkened room.

Obi-Wan Kenobi ducked as the hot beam of the training sabre seared over his head. He could not see its blue glow through the heavy blindfold pressing down on his eyes but he knew it was there. He had to use the Force to know precisely when to dodge. The lightsaber hissed harmlessly through the air where his neck had been only a moment ago.

A blow there would signal the end of the match, with his opponent the winner.

"Good!" the gravely voice of Master Yoda floated up from the sidelines of the large training room. Obi-Wan could almost feel the ancient Jedi's pleasure at his performance. "Let go. Use your feelings, you must."

The words spurred the young man on. Tall and strong for his twelve years, an inexperienced observer may assume he would have the advantage in battle. But as a Jedi student, Obi-Wan knew size and strength counted for nothing where speed and agility were needed. Nor did they have any effect on the Force that he had struggled his entire life to master within these Temple walls.

Obi-Wan listened intently for the sound of his foe's lightsaber, for his breathing, for the scrape of his boot against the floor. Such sounds echoed loudly in the vaulted chamber. A random jumble of blocks added another element to the exercise. He had to use the Force to sense those, too. If he lost his concentration for even a moment, he would most definitely stumble on such uneven ground.

"Keep your guard up," Yoda warned.

Obi-Wan obediently raised his own thrumming, laser weapon. He felt the energy vibrate through his hands as he rolled quickly to the right. His opponent's blade slammed into the floor beside him. He took a small leap back and cleared a pile of blocks. The humming song of the other lightsaber slashed the air in front of him as his foe made a hasty strike, motivated by irritation and fatigue.

Good.

Sweat trickled underneath the blindfold, making his skin itch and his eyes sting. Obi-Wan blocked these physical distractions out as he had been taught, along with his satisfaction at his opponent's clumsiness. He could not permit them. Instead, he imagined himself as a full Jedi Knight of old, battling the dark powers of a Sith Lord.

In his mind's eye he saw the black robes of his foe swirl in a physical representation of the dark power radiating from the Sith's coiled body, barely restrained. Feral eyes gleamed yellow with evil's corruption, flashing as the Dark Lord swung his blood red lightsaber in challenge.

Instinct took over and Obi-Wan surrounded himself with the Light, combating the ancient Darkness. His every muscle was now tuned to the power of the Force. It moved through him, giving him the clarity and speed that he needed.

Obi-Wan swung his training blade and blocked the coming blow effortlessly, knowing exactly where it would strike. His evil attacker's red lightsaber hummed and whirled down. Obi-Wan leaped into the air, somersaulting over his opponent's head and thrust his lightsaber out. Right where the Sith's black heart would be.

The illusion shattered when the other student yelped in surprised rage as Obi-Wan's hot blade stung his neck. If he had been using a real Knight's weapon the strike would have decapitated. Luckily the training blade in his hands only gave a searing kiss, but one that the Healers might need to tend to.

"That was a lucky blow!" the wounded initiate shouted. The voice was familiar and highly unwelcome. Obi-Wan felt a sudden resentment curl in his stomach. Until now, he had not known who he was fighting. He'd been lead into the room blindfold. Now he knew. Bruck Chun. Obi-Wan's heart clenched. Like him Bruck was one of the oldest students at the Temple. Like him he had nearly completed this phase of his Jedi training.

"Bruck," Yoda called calmly. "Leave your blindfold on. A Jedi needs not his eyes to see."

Obi-Wan heard the other boy's blindfold slap to the ground regardless. Bruck's voice was choked with fury. "You clumsy oaf!"

"Calm yourself, you will!" Yoda's gentle voice was now edged with rare steel.

Obi-Wan winced, preparing for the storm that was about to break. Every student at the Jedi Temple had his or her own weaknesses. Obi-Wan knew his own all too well. Often he struggled to control his impulsiveness and his anger. His fear of not being good enough. It was the aim of every initiate to control these flaws and not let them drive his or her motives. Only when they succeeded in this could the student safely continue on the Jedi path. The Temple was a test of character as well as skill.

Bruck struggled with a simmering temper that could ignite quickly into a hot rage. He usually kept it well under control so that only the other initiates had glimpsed it. He also, unfortunately for Obi-Wan, held grudges. A year ago Obi-Wan had stumbled in a corridor, tripping Bruck, who had fallen. It had been a complete accident caused by legs and feet that were growing too fast on both boys, but Bruck had been sure that Obi-Wan had done it deliberately. The other students' laughter had eaten into Bruck's pride and goaded his temper. Obi-Wan often wondered how someone like him had made it this far though his training. He'd called Obi-Wan an oaf, then-Oafy-Wan.

The name had stuck.

The worst thing was that it was true. Often Obi-Wan felt that he was growing too fast. He couldn't seem to catch up with his long legs and big feet. A Jedi should feel comfortable in his body, Obi-Wan just felt awkward. Only when he was at one with the Force did he feel at all graceful or sure.

"Come on, Oafy!" Bruck taunted. Obi-Wan pressed his lips together. Bruck must be really angry to display this much insolence in front of the Order's most revered Master. "See if you can hit me again! One last time before they throw you out of the Temple, you waste of space!"

"Bruck! Enough!" Yoda snapped. "Learn to lose as well as win, a Jedi must. Go back to your rooms to meditate, you will!"

Yoda's intervention came too late. Bruck's words cut at Obi-Wan like a knife, well aimed as they were. In four weeks he would turn thirteen and his Temple training would be at an end. Time was running out. No Jedi Master had offered to take him on as their Padawan apprentice and thus continue his journey on the Jedi path. If he was not chosen before his birthday, then the Code dictated that he was too old and the Council would reassign him. He would never become a Knight – the very goal he had worked his entire life to achieve. The thought made him ill. Taunts like Bruck's were becoming more and more frequent. He'd been listening intently for rumours only to find that no Jedi was scheduled to come in search of a Padawan before the dreaded deadline. He was deadly afraid now that he'd never fulfil his dream. The fear fuelled him enough to make a foolish boast.

"You don't have to send him away, Master Yoda," he said. "I'm not afraid to fight him _without_ his blindfold."

He could well imagine the flush that would be creeping up toward Bruck's white-blonde hairline right now and the distinctive narrowing of ice blue eyes. He also imagined Yoda's thoughtful nod, as he absorbed the rash words. The truth was Obi-Wan was just as exhausted as Bruck. He secretly hoped Yoda would send them both back to their rooms instead of letting them fight again.

After a long moment, however, Yoda agreed. "Continue, you will. Much to learn you still have. Use the blindfolds, you must."

Obi-Wan turned and bowed respectfully in Master Yoda's direction. He knew the ancient Master was well aware of his fatigue. Although he wished for a reprieve, he accepted the wisdom of all Yoda's decisions, great and small. This must be his lesson.

Obi-Wan tightened his blindfold and pushed away the aches of his body, willing it to obey. He tried to forget he was fighting Bruck, or that his chance at becoming a Jedi Knight was almost past. He concentrated instead on the flow of the Force, a cleansing light around and within him. He could feel the living Force in Bruck and the darkened ripples caused by the other boy's deep anger. He had to resist the hot irritation that rose in response.

In the name of the Light, what was his problem?

Assuming a defensive stance, he let the Force guide him as Bruck lunged. He danced out of the way and parried the blow with ease. He used the Force to jump high into the air, avoiding the next strike and landed behind a pillar. Three meters. Not bad. Lightsabers smashed together, sputtered, burned, then whisked away. The air soon became clogged with the energy of battle.

For minutes on end the two students fought a graceful dance. Obi-Wan leaped away from every attack and blocked every jarring blow. He did not try to strike back. Not once. He would let the other boy see that he was not clumsy. He would let him see it over and over without ever taking the offensive.

Sweat began to drench Obi-Wan's tunics. His muscles were awash with burning acid. He could hardly breathe fast enough to get the air he needed. But as long as he did not attack in anger, the Force remained strong with him. He tried no to think of the fight. He lost himself in the dance and soon he felt so weary that he did not think at all.

Bruck fought slower and slower. In the end Obi-Wan did not even have to dodge the weary attacks. He merely let them slide to the side until, finally, Bruck gave up.

"Good, Obi-Wan," Yoda called warmly. "Learning you are."

Smiling widely, Obi-Wan switched off the training sabre and hung it on his belt. He removed the blindfold and used the material to swipe the sweat from his face. Next to him, Bruck was doubled over, panting. He did not look at Obi-Wan.

"You see," Yoda said. "To defeat an enemy, you do not have to kill. Defeat the rage that burns him and he is your enemy no longer. Rage the true enemy is."

Obi-Wan understood this wisdom well, but Bruck's glazed glare told him that he had not defeated his opponent's anger. Nor had he won the other boy's respect.

The two boys turned to Yoda and bowed solemnly before kneeling before him, but even on their knees, they still had to look down to meet Yoda's eyes. Standing at less than a meter tall, the venerable Jedi was one of the smallest Masters in the Order – in physical stature. In the light of the Force, however, Yoda was a giant. His Force presence dwarfed that of the students.

Obi-Wan gazed upon him with a deep respect mixed with warm fondness. For all of his short life, Yoda had been a constant, unfailing presence. The strange little Master had overseen Obi-Wan's growth in the Force since infancy. Just as he had every Jedi for the last ten generations. Aged at over eight-hundred years old, Yoda had probably forgotten more than Obi-Wan would ever know.

The old Master leaned heavily upon his wooden gimer stick and glanced up at him. The long, pointed ears tilted forward from the sides of his wizened head, protruding from the wispy, white hair that stood out in stark contrast to his green skin. Obi-Wan had never discovered to which species Master Yoda belonged. He suspected nobody knew. Except maybe Master Yaddle. She was the same. Though maybe not quite so old.

The large, grey-green eyes smiled. "Enough for one day," Yoda said. "Tired you are and rest you both need, hmm yes. _Very_ important it is." His eyes fixed on Obi-Wan for a moment longer than necessary as he said this. The young man was quick to pick up on the gesture. Yoda never said or did anything idly. His head tilted slightly in thought. _Rest __you __both __need._What could be so important that he require rest?

Before he could let his mind dwell on the question, Yoda continued. "Tomorrow, a Jedi Knight comes to the Temple seeking a Padawan. Ready for him you must be."

With those words, Obi-Wan's world was suddenly turned blissfully upside down. There was a moment of disbelief and Obi-Wan had to stop himself from asking Yoda to repeat the words. A Knight was coming? A Knight was actually coming to the Temple in search of an apprentice! Obi-Wan had to call on a life time of training to contain his delight, excitement and boundless relief at this unexpected news. All was not lost after all! Usually, when a Jedi came to the Temple in search of a Padawan Learner, rumours beat the arrival by weeks. He hadn't wanted to admit it but he had lost hope. Now after all the pain and heartbreak, a Knight was coming. Here. Tomorrow!

"Who?" Obi-Wan asked, unable to contain himself any longer. He could hear his own heart thudding heavily in his chest. "Who's coming?"

"Know of him, you do," Yoda said, and Obi-Wan could tell the Master was secretly smiling at his barely disguised eagerness. "Master Qui-Gon Jinn. Be here by morning, he will."

Obi-Wan's eyebrows shot up. One surprise after another. Qui-Gon Jinn. Now that was a name he certainly did know.

Master Jinn was renowned throughout the Order. Exceptionally strong in the Living Force, he had a unique connection to the life energy that bound the universe together. As a swordsman he was said to be almost unrivalled, the best seen in centuries and one of the Jedi's most skilful negotiators. He was also rumoured to be a bit of a loner. A mystery. A maverick. One who followed his own instincts when it came to interpreting the will of the Force. His clashes with the collective wisdom of the Jedi Council were the stuff of legend among the initiates and added to his appeal. Many of them would give their right arm, or the alien equivalent, to become that man's Padawan Learner.

Yet, despite the best efforts from the best of the Temple students, none had ever succeeded in gaining the honour so far. For the past six years Master Jinn had travelled back to the Temple to look over potential initiates. Each time he left without taking a new Padawan, leaving only disappointment in his wake.

Obi-Wan had heard that Qui-Gon had lost his first and last apprentice in a bloody battle. No one knew exactly what had happened. Obi-Wan assumed the student must have been killed, because ever since that day Master Jinn had vowed never to take another Padawan. He returned each year only because the Council made him. He would spend a few hours watching the pupils, studying them as if looking for something that no one else could see. Then he would leave empty handed, going back to fight the darkness alone.

Obi-Wan's hopes died as fast as they had risen. Qui-Gon had rejected many students. What made him think _he_ would be the one to please him?

"He won't want me," he muttered in bleak defeat. An invisible fist closed his throat, choking him with despair. "No one does."

Yoda squinted up at him, eyes steeped in infinite wisdom. "Hummmph!" he grumbled. "Always in motion is the future. One cannot be sure, but sensed I have… a kinder destiny for you."

Something in Yoda's tone made Obi-Wan wonder. The fist at his throat loosened. "Will he choose me?"

"On Qui-Gon that depends - and you," Yoda said. "Come before him tomorrow with the Force as your ally. Perhaps accept you, he will." Yoda reached up and put a comforting, three fingered hand on his arm. "Either way, it matters not. Leave the Temple soon you shall. But tell you I must, to lose such an apt pupil, I am sorry."

Startled and pleased, Obi-Wan beamed gratefully at Yoda. In that moment he felt that even if he didn't become a Knight, he could go on with his head held high. He had earned Master Yoda's good opinion and that was a great gift.

Yoda patted his arm once then turned and shuffled from the room. The tap of his gimer stick echoed faintly on the stone floor as he went. The lights powered down automatically and dusky shadows moved in to dominate the area.

There was a moment's quiet before the stillness was broken by a sudden laugh. The high mocking sound cut through the silence left by the old Master's departure. Obi-Wan gritted his teeth. He had almost forgotten about Bruck.

"Oh, don't get your hopes up, Oafy," Bruck said. "He's just tying to make you feel better. The Masters won't be able to push you onto anyone. There are plenty of better candidates for Master Jinn than _you_."

Obi-Wan stiffened. Hot anger trickled through him, muddying the happiness brought about by Yoda's words. He felt tempted to point out that Bruck was not one of those better candidates. Instead he headed for the doorway.

He had taken but one step when something hard hit the back of his head. The sound of the blow against Obi-Wan's skull reverberated through the room.

Bruck had thrown a training probe.

Obi-Wan spun to face the other boy in open shock as Bruck sneered. Bruck was often cruel, but not usually so brazen. Breathing deep Obi-Wan let the shock and hurt pass through him as he had been taught. It did no good. As he centred himself, a terrible truth struck him like a thunderbolt.

"You _knew_ that Master Jinn was coming to the Temple, didn't you?" Obi-Wan accused, his suspicions hardening into a hard knot of certainty. Being the oldest student in the Temple, the Masters would encourage Qui-Gon to accept him-the lost cause. Bruck did not want that to happen.

The other boy's own thirteenth birthday was only three months away and, now that he was looking, Obi-Wan could clearly see his own greatest fear reflected back at him in the ice blue eyes of his rival. Fear of never being chosen. In this one thing, they were the same.

"I made sure you didn't find out," Bruck smiled. "And you never would have if I'd had my way."

Obi-Wan stiffened at the admission. Any sympathy or understanding he might have felt for Bruck died in the face of the other boy's maliciousness. His temper spiked as the full extent of the plan hit home. Bruck hoped to become Qui-Gon's Padawan. He wanted it so badly that he was willing to lie and cheat to eliminate his biggest threat. He had tried to keep Obi-Wan from preparing. Thanks to Yoda that plan was now out of the window but the realisation was still a shock. Jedi were taught to conduct themselves with fairness and honour, as children they were surrounded by it. To be suddenly faced with such callous selfishness was like a slap across Obi-Wan's face.

He stared across the room into Bruck's taunting eyes and the reason for the other boy's brazen goading was now painfully clear. He was deliberately trying to get Obi-Wan to lose his temper. His anger and impatience had always been his downfall in the past. Bruck knew that very well and now he was trying to use it in a last ditch effort to ruin Obi-Wan's chances.

Well he would not let Bruck win. He could not let him see the fear he felt and how close it was taking him to the edge, fear that he just wasn't good enough to be a Padawan. So instead of rising to the bait, Obi-Wan forced a smile onto his face. "Bruck, in three months from now, I hope you make a wonderful farmer." It was the worst insult he could muster, to suggest that Bruck's mastery of the Force was so small that he would be fit only for the Agricultural Corps.

With that he spun on his heel and stalked out before he did something he regretted.

He felt Bruck's rage blaze behind him. "You won't succeed, Kenobi!" he shouted. "I'll make sure of it!"

Grinding his teeth, Obi-Wan ignored the words with a titanic effort and carried on walking. He had to prepare for tomorrow. Even if nothing else was certain, Bruck Chun was going to get a painful lesson in humility. No matter what, Obi-Wan would not let him win.

"Are you sure what you are doing is wise?"

Yoda turned as the broad, dark figure of Mace Windu came striding up beside him. Without invite, the other Council member joined him in his journey towards the Room of a Thousand Fountains, adjusting his long stride to match Yoda's more sedate limp.

Yoda peered up at him. Mace's strong, dark face was as impassive as ever in the dim light of evening, the soft lamps above shone faintly upon the clean shaven head. Piercing black eyes studied Yoda no less openly – eyes that many students, and no small amount of Knights, claimed could burn right through flesh and reduce a kryat dragon to ash. Yoda cackled at the notion, intimidated none by the other Master. He had known Mace since he was a squalling youngling in the crèche, and could readily dig up stories that would make the intimidating man squirm.

Hmmm. Maybe need it, Mace did sometimes. Too serious he was.

"Wise, my old friend?" Yoda asked.

"You know of what I speak," Mace accused. "You are scheming to bring Qui-Gon and this Kenobi boy together. I just wanted you to know that I do not fully agree. Jinn is not ready for another such Padawan. There are others that would be better suited. More controlled and steady on the path."

Yoda paused then shook his head slowly. At first glance maybe true that was. But first glance one should never take. He had often wondered why young Obi-Wan had been overlooked by so many Masters. More than enough potential, he certainly had. Now Yoda thought he knew. Waiting the Force was.

To Mace he said, "Jedi to the core, young Obi-Wan is. Surer on the path than many of us in his heart. Simply needs the chance to grow with the right teacher he does. Compete before Qui-Gon tomorrow, he will. Foreseen it I have. Hard was the blow of betrayal on our friend, when turned his back on the Jedi, Xanatos did. Hasn't let go of that, has Qui-Gon. Bitterness clings to his soul. Peace he cannot find. Not good for a Jedi. Needs another to reopen his heart, get him to let go fears he does not even know."

"And you think this boy is such a one?" Mace raised a critical eyebrow.

Yoda sighed at the other Master's lack of faith, though he understood well Mace's reticence. Close friends he and Qui-Gon had always been through childhood. Though they had grown apart over recent years, following Mace's election to the Council and Qui-Gon's loss, concerned for his old friend Mace still was. Didn't want to see him hurt again.

Yoda halted and gave the other Master his full attention. "Agree with you, I do," he said, "that neither is ready. But works in mysterious ways the Force does. Bring Master and Padawan together it may yet, for need each other, these two _do_." He pushed all of his certainty into the last.

Mace shook his smooth head, but it wasn't a gesture of outright denial. He was silent for a long moment as he considered Yoda's words. In the end all he said was, "I hope you're right."

Yoda cackled, green eyes dancing. "Right I nearly always am. Realise this one day, you will." He smacked Mace's shins with his gimer stick, enjoying the wince that cracked the other Council member's seemingly permanent glower. "When eight hundred years old you reach, be as wise as me, you will not!"

_**Orbit, Coruscant:**_

Tarlock woke as the shuttle touched Coruscant's upper atmosphere. It's outer hull blushed with heat as it kissed the upper layer and dropped lower. In seconds they were nosing through a heavy cloud bank masking the rising sun from the planet below.

Tarlock's eyestalks flicked forward. The Jedi still stood unmoving up front. Still as a statue. Tall frame ramrod straight. He may well have been standing there all night staring out of that porthole. Tarlock shook his head. It was unnatural.

Turning his own eyes to the window, he watched as the endless cityscape of the Republic's Capital planet came into view far below. Everywhere one looked they were faced with gleaming buildings thousands of meters tall, arcing walkways and floating landing pads. No forests, no mountains, no oceans were to be found. The shining city dominated the whole surface of Coruscant. The vista was nothing short of breathtaking, the scale and engineering feat mind blowing. Tarlock couldn't help being blown away every time he saw it. The city had dominated the planet for thousands of years, home to billions, from the leaders of the galaxy to the lowliest shop owner. The epicentre of the Galactic Republic's civilization and culture.

The floor tilted as the small ship quickly manoeuvred to join the bustling air lanes crisscrossing Coruscant's skyline. Tarlock felt a familiar queasiness fluttering through his system. This next part he was less than fond of as the pilot jockeyed for position among the other countless vessels travelling the city planet. It was forever busy on Coruscant. As the Capital of the Republic there could be no help for that.

The little ship swerved and jinked, causing her passengers to take a firmer grip on their seats. The Jedi reached for nothing. His booted feet were firmly planted as he rode out the shuttle's manoeuvres with the serene assurance and grace of a trained warrior. Tarlock supposed he hadn't expected anything less.

The strange man had not spoken to anyone since boarding. Awe and not a small amount of fear had kept most of the other passengers from trying to approach him, and the Jedi had made no attempt to break the boundaries and set them at ease. With his imposing height he was a forbidding spectacle and seemed to be in no mood for excited questions.

Of course some of the bolder tourists had tried, but a slicing blue glance had quickly made them realise they had more pressing things to study. The Jedi had pulled deeper into his cloak and aura of brooding mystery. The lightsaber was now kept well from prying eyes.

The ship settled, levelling out after successfully pushing into one of the air lanes. Tarlock returned his gaze to the window. His long eyestalks made it a simple thing for him to see out and look at the world below. They were now passing over the Senatorial District, Coruscant's richest quarter. Huge, silvery apartments reached for the sky, rippling out in an ever widening circumference from the golden dome of the Senate building itself.

Grand homes of the Republic's Senators, the places where they lived when they came to represent their respective planets before the Chancellor. For thousands of years the Republic had governed most of the known galaxy in peace. Everyday hundreds more planets petitioned for membership and it was up to the elected Chancellor and the Senate to govern each one fairly and peacefully, meeting the needs of countless billions and making sure the Republic's laws were honoured.

Not an easy task with so many divided opinions and interests. No wonder they needed the Jedi to meditate the numerous upsets.

In contrast to the tall buildings around it, the Senate building itself was relatively squat, crouching among its flamboyant cousins, but no less grand for it. Its round, gilded dome glinted gold as a ray of sunlight broke through the cloud cover, setting it alight in a dazzling display.

Ignoring the gasps coming from all around him, Tarlock's experienced eye noted the many transports docked around the building's expansive girth. The Senate must be in session. He wondered distantly for the reason before dismissing it. As a small businessman, it was no concern of his.

What was his concern, however, was the fact that the shuttle hadn't turned in its usual direction. He felt a flash of annoyance. If he was late for his meeting, he'd-

The thoughts trailed off abruptly when he caught sight of the new direction they were taking.

The Jedi Temple was now looming upon the skyline. The five distinctive spires reached gallantly for the sky, rising straight up from the great, blocky base. Tarlock's eyes widened as they drew quickly nearer. Of course! They would have to drop off their unexpected guest first.

He laughed under his breath at how unexpected life could be sometimes. When he had started this trip he would never have believed he would be sharing a transport with a Jedi Knight, much less that he would be docking along the sacred walls of the Temple itself!

But after a few short minutes that's exactly what he was doing. The ship reached the Temple, flying right up to the gleaming glass and steel walls. Their ship was dwarfed by the sheer scale of the building, like an insect buzzing along the fat flank of a nerf. They flew round once until the pilot docked at the main landing bay. Excited murmurs broke out all around the tiny ship and for once Tarlock was as excited and as awed as the tourists. As the forward landing ramp lowered, all eyes, eye-stalks or other sensory appendages strained to catch a glimpse of the Temple's interior.

Tarlock was surprised when out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Jedi's broad shoulders sag slightly. It was the only indication of emotion the tall man had ever shown. He looked… sad. Tarlock didn't understand. He wondered what could possibly make him so reluctant to be home. But the answer to that question would never be his and curiosity was cut short as the Jedi strode down the ramp without even a backward glance. The ramp swung back into place, blocking their brief view and rousing disappointed murmurs.

As the shuttle took off and left the Temple behind, the murmurs and complaints at the swift departure continued. Tarlock himself found he could not complain. He had gotten far more than he could have hoped for on this journey. What a story he would have for his children this evening when he returned home. He had flown with a real, breathing Jedi Knight! He smiled quietly to himself. Maybe now his wife wouldn't worry so much. Not if she knew he was sharing transports with the great Guardians of the Galaxy…


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Qui-Gon Jinn turned.

Silently he watched as the shuttle took off and disappeared back into the sky. He would have given anything to be going with it. Be gone back to the war torn planet where he had just finished negotiating a gruelling peace treaty. Anything but be back here. Home.

He had sensed the other passengers' curiosity, their almost burning desire to see more of the Jedi Temple. Qui-Gon tilted his head at the irony. They were straining to get in. He was straining to get away. What would they have said if he had told them that he would readily swap places with them? The Council would certainly have an apoplectic fit if they suddenly found a bunch of tourists scurrying through the Temple halls, but, while the idea of giving the Council a collective fit appealed to him greatly, Qui-Gon shook the ridiculous idea from his mind.

Instead he turned to face the inevitable. He paid not the smallest amount of attention to the other Jedi occupying the large hanger bay as he forged a path between them. Many were leaving for or returning from their own missions around the galaxy.

With only ten thousand Jedi Knights existing within the Order, they were often on the move, seldom returning to the Temple for any length of time. Except to hear from the Council as to where they needed to be sent next.

The landing bay never slept.

Qui-Gon felt rather than saw a few of the other Jedi glance his way, but he kept his cobalt eyes fixed straight ahead, not turning to meet their gazes or inviting greeting. He had no desire to spend any time of the day with an old acquaintance should he spot one. He exited the hanger through a vaulted archway and entered the Temple proper, moving swiftly through the hushed, sculpted hallways.

Home again.

Just in time for the next instalment of this hated yearly ritual.

Qui-Gon gated a harsh sigh of frustration. Six years, six years had now passed since the loss of Xanatos and the pain of it still resounded inside him like it was yesterday, refusing to blunt with the passage of years. Maybe, he mused bitterly, because he just couldn't be left in peace. The wounds were reopened with stinging salt each time the Council insisted on his return to choose another Padawan Learner. An effort that achieved nothing except to cause further pain and disappointment for all parties involved.

He could sense the Council's growing frustration with his perceived stubbornness-yet another vendetta by the 'maverick' of the Order. Qui-Gon sighed. It wasn't quite like that. He wasn't ignoring them deliberately this time. He just couldn't obey. It was as if they expected him to be able to just switch off all the hurt that existed inside him and move on.

But it just couldn't work like that. The loss of Xanatos had forever left it's mark upon him.

That was the price of love, he surmised.

And Qui-Gon had loved his Padawan. Like he had been his own son, he had loved him.

Drawing a long breath into his lungs, the Jedi Master quickly reached out for the peace theTemple had once offered. It swirled around him as he walked, filtering down with the soft light streaming from the soaring windows. Like a drowning man he soaked it in, letting it balm his soul as much as it could. The Temple had been the main home of the Jedi Order for millennia, ever since they had pledged their allegiance to the then fledgling Republic, vowing to protect and uphold its values of peace and honour in the galaxy. Countless millennia of teachings and knowledge, wisdom and strength came seeping from the very air. With so many Jedi in one place, the light of the Force was an almost tangible thing.

Qui-Gon's eyes lit upon the sculptures and historical reliefs carved into the polished marble on many of the walls. A lot of them depicted ancient battles. Strange in such a place, but fitting nontheless. Darkness had threatened to overtake the galaxy many times throughout the Jedis' long and eventful history. They had had many enemies, Qui-Gon's eye's flicked to one study in particular, one that depicted two sides battling each other with slashing lightsabers. None had been more deadly than the Sith.

Qui-Gon found it ironic that the Jedis' most dangerous enemy and the greatest threat ever known to the galaxy had originated from their own ranks.

Back in time immemorial, when those first ancient philosophers had discovered the presence of the Force and learned to listen to its will and control its energy, they had vowed even then only to use their new found powers for knowledge and defence. To protect. Slowly and carefully had they experimented until the first of the Jedi had been born. As space travel grew and the galaxy became more accessible, their numbers had swelled, going from strength to strength.

But even then there had been those unsatisfied with the studies made by the Jedi. A few of the more rash students had begun thirsting for more power experimenting ever more with forbidden studies. The Dark Side of the Force. Eventually, maddened and corrupted, they had split from the fledgling Order falling further and further into darkness, disappearing and spreading their teachings until they had re-emerged as the brotherhood of the Sith.

In two destructive wars they had battled the Jedi for supremacy, knowing it was only the Order that stood in the way of galaxy wide domination.

After many confrontations that had nearly torn the galaxy apart the Jedi had thrown down their ancient enemy. Just. The Sith had now been extinct for a millennia, a story now told only to send a chill up the spines of children in the crèche. Qui-Gon could only be glad of that.

He shook himself from his impromptu trip through history and continued on. An open door to his left drew his attention. Inside he spied a class of tiny initiates, younglings of about four to five standard years of age. Currents of the Force swirled haphazardly inside the room as the youngsters struggled with their control. Stuffed cushions wobbled uncertainly in the air above their heads. The Temple Master teaching the class stood in the middle, soothing and guiding their efforts.

Suddenly there was a distraught squeal and a cushion dropped from the air. This outburst of course distracted the rest of the children and the class Master was propmtly lost under a downpour of pillows.

Teaching Force control to the younger initiates was not an envied task among the Temple Masters.

Like all Jedi, these young initiates would have been identified as Force sensitive and brought to the Temple within six months following their birth. The Temple was the only home they had ever known. The Jedi the only family they would ever have. It was the same for Qui-Gon and every other Jedi he had ever met.

It had become the belief of the Order that only teaching from a young age could successfully sculpt a child's latent ability in the Force and give them the necessary control over their desires and emotions, letting go the anger and possessiveness that would tempt them to answer the call of the Dark Side. The mistake of the Sith was not one the Jedi wished to repeat.

The children were shielded from the evils and temptations of the outside world within the serenity of the Temple walls until they were ready. By which time they would be chosen as a Padawan Learner by a single Jedi Master who would continue the child's training on a strictly one to one basis. With the power they could wield, no flaws could be overlooked in a potential Knight's development. The child travelled the galaxy at his or her Master's side, growing to adulthood and learning all they could until they were ready to take the Trials and become a Knight in their own right.

Qui-Gon's eyes roved over the class as the children straightened themselves out. Not all of them would become Jedi Knights. Not enough Masters existed in the Order for all of the children to be accepted as Padawan Learners. Which was why every potential Master was needed. With the Republic growing ever larger, more and more Jedi Knights would be needed to keep the peace.

Qui-Gon believed that this was part of the reason he was being put under such pressure to take on another Padawan.

He turned abruptly away from the children and marched on. The peace he had grabbed onto upon entering the Temple was tenuous at best. His only intent now was to reach his quarters as quickly as possible. He hoped at least to get settled before Master Yoda called him to view yet another group of hopeful initiates. Students who would only end up having their hopes dashed. His heart would not take another apprentice.

Pushing all thought from his mind, the Jedi Master waited until the lift moved up to the residential levels of the Temple and strode out into the airy corridor beyond. Many of the Knights and Masters were quartered up here along with their Padawans. The younger children lived in the crèches further down, nearer the training rooms and classes.

Moving along the blue floored corridor, Qui-Gon passed by many of the widely spaced doorways, each with their own recessed entrance and name plate haling the identity of the current occupant. The tall master turned a few corners on a much worn route, the light panels high overhead mimicking the light of the sun where none could reach so deep in the bowels of the Temple. Finally he found his own door.

Entering his rooms he absently slung his travel pack into a corner and stepped into the small kitchenette. As a Master who had once had an apprentice his apartment was a fair size, including a sitting area, the kitchenette and two bedrooms. Of course the latter was unnecessary now, but Qui-Gon kept away from the Temple for such long periods of time that he had had no time to request a smaller living space.

His eyes betrayed him by straying towards the locked door on his left. Xanatos' room. In his mind's eye he saw the door thrown wide open, as a tall gangly boy with raven hair slouching out, unhappy with the prospect of training early. His mind flashed forward and the same boy, grown now to an accomplished young man, striding out of that room, midnight blue eyes filled with eagerness at the prospect of his last mission as a Padawan—

Qui-Gon turned sharply away. He fought the very human urge to run, run as far from the memories as he could get. His heart felt like it had been slashed open. But he wasn't just human. He was Jedi. He didn't run. He closed his eyes tightly and calmed his breathing. Opening them and carefully avoiding seeing anything but what was in front of him, Qui-Gon reached into a cupboard and pulled down a pack of his favourite tea. He was pleased when his hand didn't tremble. He had become very practiced in locking away his emotions. Immediately the strong aroma of the sapir leaf filled the air. Gratefully he inhaled its rich scent, letting the tea's soothing qualities seep down though his senses. It was one of the few things he had permitted himself to miss about the Temple and he was going to need it if he was going to get through the next couple of hours.

But hardly had he set the water to boiling when he noticed that the light on his communications console was flashing. A brief glance told him that he was wanted right away down in the training arenas.

Qui-Gon ground his teeth together. Yoda was more persistent than ever this year, it seemed.

The tall Master pinched the bridge of his strong, crooked nose forcing back his resntment. He did not need this. But the fact remained. He was here and he had a duty to perform. All he had to do was go down there, view a few sparring matches then he could leave again. The Senate itself had requested his services. Some sort of mining dispute had arisen on the planet Bandomeer between the giant Offworld and Arconan Mining Corporations. The Senate wanted him in particular to settle it.

Despite the fact that he had not yet rested from his last journey, Qui-Gon had already agreed. A transport carrying mining workers was leaving for the small backwater planet that evening and Qui-Gon planned to be on it. With any luck he would be away from the Temple again by tonight and well away from the disappointment in Yoda's eyes when the ancient Master realised that he was once again leaving alone.

Reassuring himself with that thought, Qui-Gon put his cup down and walked back out of the door.

The large training room buzzing when Qui-Gon arrived. Groups of young students filled the edges of the large space. They were not the students here to hopefully win the right of becoming Qui-Gon's Padawan today, this crowd was here simply to support and revel in the excitement of the event.

Qui-Gon paused just outside the door, taking a moment to survey the scene while he still had the luxury of being unnoticed. Sure enough, through the crowds he could see a handful of older students waiting at one end of the room. The silver hilts of their training 'sabres were clutched nervously in their young hands as they stood on the edge of the arena. They were a mixed bunch, haling from planets all around the vast reaches of the Galactic Republic. All different but at the same time, all very much the same. All Jedi students, all on the same path. Each with similar goals and aspirations. This was no more firmly represented than in the way they were dressed. Each student donned the standard, plain cream tunics favoured by the Order, with the same brown leather boots and sturdy utility belts. For those students whose species grew hair, like the human younglings, their locks were cut short in the style of the Jedi apprentice, unremarkable save for a thin braid of hair that was grown from behind the right ear, a symbol of their status as learners. The braid would remain unmarked until the student that wore it was chosen by a Master as his or her Padawan Learner. Only then would a single, tiny bead be added to symbolise the advancement in their training.

Qui-Gon's eyes slid over the group. No beads would be added today.

Deciding that procrastination was not his style, Qui-Gon straightened and made his delayed entrance into the room.

The room immediately grew hushed. Dozens of students turned towards him with eager eyes. He ignored them, seeming not to notice, walking straight until he stood with the other viewing Knights and Masters on the far side of the large training room. He settled himself silently, and very reluctantly, beside Yoda.

The diminutive green Master blinked his large eyes in silent greeting. The long ears tilted forward as he studied Qui-Gon. As always Qui-Gon could sense the power radiating from the small body, the light of the Force all but shone through the wise, wrinkled countenance of the oldest, most respected Jedi in the Order.

He nodded his own greeting out of respect but nevertheless stayed rigidly silent. Yoda may be the unspoken leader of the Jedi Council and the mentor who had held his respect since before he could walk, but that didn't mean Qui-Gon had to like his constant 'requests' to be here.

The noise throughout the rest of the room had risien again. The students all knew it was about to start. Who would be chosen? Would one of them finally be able to catch the eye of the great Qui-Gon Jinn?

Qui-Gon stared out of a window, occupying his mind with the mission to come and willing the time to pass.

He was aware of Yoda calling for silence and signalling for the matches to begin with a simple wave of one clawed hand. A pair of students stepped forward into the centre of the room, bowed to the observing Masters and then to each other before beginning to spar, powering up their lightsabers and crossing the glowing laser blades.

A bird flew past the window.

Yoda cleared his throat irritably. Qui-Gon felt the lash of his disapproval. "Good grace to watch the younglings, you might have, Qui-Gon," he rebuked. "Hurt their feelings, you will, by wallowing in your own. Selfish I never thought you were and Jedi Master you _are._" _So __act __like __it._The last Yoda did not say but the implication was there.

Stung, Qui-Gon turned back to the students. Then the stirrings of anger came. He was tempted to point out that it was entirely Yoda's fault that he was there at all. Any disappointment caused was his responsibility to bear. His rational side quashed the feeling quickly. Yoda was right. He _was_ a Master and these students had done nothing to deserve his poor opinion. He could not see them lose heart just because of his personal troubles. He would at least watch and appreciate the effort these children had put in. Drawing on the Force he stretched his senses out towards them, feeling for their thoughts and emotions as they moved.

Sparring like this was considered the best way for a student to display his or her skills to a prospective Master. It proved how well the student could wield their blade-essential for defence in a turbulent galaxy. But most importantly of all it displayed the student's ability to listen to the Force and their willingness to let it guide their actions purely, free from any anger or resentment towards their opponent.

The blades tangled and hissed as the present antagonists came together. Despite the fierce sounds, the sabres used here were training models only. He doubted any of the students here had built a real blade yet. Creating the weapon of a Jedi was a serious and sacred event. To build a lightsabre one needed a great deal of skill and mastery of the Force. Once constructed the weapon was as unique as the warrior who wielded it – the only treasure a Jedi truly owned in their unpredictable lives. Lives of no possession.

No attachment.

As it should be. To live otherwise on this path risked dangerous emotion, possessiveness, fear of loss and thus the Dark Side. It was a cold fact and Qui-Gon had learned it the hard way.

And he had learned it well, even though it had cost him his heart.

Quickly he turned his thoughts back to the fresh faced students duelling before him. Dummy blades aside, the bouts were fiercely competitive. Each candidate doing their very best to impress.

Winners were elated. The losers crestfallen, fully believing that their chance of becoming a Padawan this day was over. Qui-Gon watched them all, nodding graciously to each victor. He was not blind to the amount of talent being put before him today and he did genuinely hope that these students found worthy Masters in the future.

In the end only two human boys were left to perform. Qui-Gon cast his eyes over both as they stepped into the sparring area.

The first boy was stocky and sported a shock of white hair, the blond braid dangled just below his right shoulder. There was a certain arrogance in the way he moved as he bowed to the Masters. Qui-Gon didn't like what he saw but he acknowledged the boy as he had all the others before turning to the next student.

And there his eyes stayed. A strange jolt passed through him as a pair of clear, blue-green eyes met his. The Force swirled strongly around him, taking him completely off guard.

The boy was tall for his age, but still gangling, feet and joints too big and awkward. He looked to have suffered a recent growth spurt. Further up, russet hair crowned a youthful, comely face, framing the bright, unusual eyes – somehow familiar.

Qui-Gon shook himself quickly, realising he had been staring for too long. He gave the boy a brief nod then turned his gaze away, determined not to show or feel interest. The Force was still moving purposefully around him as if telling him there was something he should know or be doing. He ignored it. The boy was one of the elder students, he had probably seen him compete a few times in the past. That was all.

"Who is that?" the question slipped from his lips regardless and he kicked himself.

Yoda's large eyes were twinklng. "Obi-Wan Kenobi, his name is," he said and signalled quickly for the match to start.

_Obi-Wan_. Qui-Gon nodded his acknowledgement. The name meant nothing. Relaxing he turned his attention back to the battle unfolding before him.

The boys were moving around each other, feignting and retreating, testing one anothers defences. The blond boy shifted his feet just slightly. The motion might have gone unnoticed to the other student but Qui-Gon's experienced eye told him the battle was about to start. A split second later the stocky boy sprang, bringing his lightsabre down and round at the other boy with a ferocity that took Qui-Gon by surprise. Luckily for Kenobi, he was prepared and met the attack head on. The training sabres cracked and growled as they clashed then swept apart. Kenobi spun and lashed out, trying to get through his opponant's defences from the side. Again and again the boys came together, neither one giving an inch.

The other matches had been competitive but this was filled with a desperate and ferocious energy as both students struggled to gain the advantage.

They didn't like each other, these two, it didn't take the Force to know that. Rivals perhaps. Such things were not uncommon among the initiates as they went through their Temple training. Some of these rivalries could get quite fierce if Qui-Gon remembered rightly. The battle would be bitter to the end. And interesting. With such hard feelings it would be difficult for the boys to stay calm and not give in to their anger.

The glowing blue blades were now slashing back and forth in an electric display, movements becoming almost too fast to track as the boys used the Force to enhance their physical abilities. And then there was the unseen contest. Invisible energy was being buffeted back and forth. Power that made the weapons the boys wielded seem like harmless toys. Each of them had reached such a level of control that they were using blasts of Force energy to try and unbalance the other.

Both boys were extremely talented, but as the fight played out Qui-Gon found, to his dismay, that his eyes kept straying back to the Kenobi boy. Ungainliness aside when he was fighting the boy's movements were strong and held a certain grace. He was good. Probably the best he'd seen today. If he kept his concentration, Qui-Gon was fairly certain he would win this match.

The white-haired boy obviously felt this too, and Qui-Gon saw him whisper something to Kenobi when locked blades drew them close together. Qui-Gon could not hear what was said from where he sat but, judging from the sneer on the pale boy's flushed face, the comment was neither helpful nor friendly.

And the results were clear. Kenobi suddenly went on the offensive with a ferocity rarely seen in these sparring matches. A burst of unrestrained, raw power blasted his opponent across the room. The white-haired boy gave a yelp of surprise but to his credit managed to twist in the air and land back on his feet as Kenobi came after him. He was now hard pressed to regain his centre and defend himself against the relentless attack. Things were going very badly for him now. His tunic was scorched with fresh burns.

Nevertheless his plan had had the desired effect. He had made Kenobi lose control. Yoda sighed heavily and his long ears dipped.

Qui-Gon sighed too, feeling strangely disappointed himself. Talented or not, Kenobi had let his emotions get the better of him. A grave mistake for a Jedi. Control was the key. Only a serene mind could be fully open to the Will of the Force. Openings began to appear in the boy's defences, all but neglected in his need to bring the other student down. Fair enough he had his opponent on the run, but a real, more experienced enemy would have taken advantage and dispatched him long ago.

Fortunately that wasn't the case here and the bout did not last much longer.

The white-haired boy (Bruck, did he hear them shouting?) had lost his lightsaber after a twisting move from Kenobi. He was forced to dive swiftly to retrieve it before his opponent was able to land a 'killing' blow. He managed. Just.

He should have saved the energy. Barely had he reactivated the weapon when Kenobi hammered into him with his full force. The answering block failed under the onslaught and both of the training blades crashed back into the blond boy, who went down with a cry of surprise and pain.

"Enough!" Yoda called, and it was over.

The observing crowd of initiates erupted into cheers. Some cheering more enthusiastically than others, depending on whom they had supported. Obi-Wan or Bruck.

Qui-Gon eyed the victor. Though exhausted Kenobi positively glowed. To him this had obviously been a very important match and he had triumphed. Or so he thought. In Qui-Gon's eyes, he had simply beaten his opponent with a weapon. He had completely lost the battle within himself. That had been the greater conflict by far. In Qui-Gon's eyes, Kenobi had very much been defeated.

The boy chose that moment to turn, meeting Qui-Gon's gaze across the room. His eyes were searching, wondering and Qui-Gon was careful to keep his expression neutral, giving him only a brief nod before turning away as if to speak with Yoda.

Out of the corner of his eye he continued to watch as the boy moved to celebrate with his friends-two other boys and a smaller Calamari girl. It was hard to tell who was the most elated. Despite everything Qui-Gon couldn't help twitching a smile at the scene.

"Very apt pupil, that one," Yoda said, obviously knowing full well where Qui-Gon's attention lay.

Qui-Gon tried hard to hide his surprise. Praise from Yoda was as rare as a rebuke, yet the little Master's voice held an unmistakable fondness.

He turned to find Yoda peering up at him. "His birthday soon. Thirteen he will be. Have to leave the Temple he will, if claimed he is not." Yoda's large eyes bored into his. "In search of an apprentice within that time, no other Masters come. Very sorry I will be, if lose him we must."

Qui-Gon opened his mouth in protest then snapped it shut. He glowered at the diminutive Master for a moment before breaking off the inevitable argument before it could begin. So that was his ploy, was it? Yoda wanted him to take this boy as his Padawan. So badly that the old Master was willing to stoop to play upon his guilt and sympathy. Accept the boy or reject him and destroy all of the young man's dreams. Qui-Gon knew already which way it must be. How dare the old troll put this on him!

Struggling with his irritation, the tall Master looked for a long while at the young student in question, not quite sure what Yoda saw there. Yes he was undoubtedly gifted but Qui-Gon had already seen the recklessness in him, the ambition, and that was a dangerous trait. He knew it to be so. Xanatos had been exactly the same.

Well Yoda would just have to find another solution to his little cause, for he would not take the boy and he refused to be made to feel guilty for it. Let Yoda find another fool.

And yet… there was something, something that still pulled at him. Cursing himself, Qui-Gon rose and went out.

Kenobi was just pulling on a fresh tunic and throwing his old one into the wash basket when Qui-Gon entered the shower rooms. The boy looked up as he came in and Qui-Gon was caught once more by the clear, open eyes. Frowning Qui-Gon wondered not for the first time why he was here.

Well, seeing as he was, he might as well say something. Ignoring the stirrings of hope that had appeared on the boy's face, he asked, "Who taught you to fight like that?"

The boy was confused by the question, obviously not knowing which way to take it. "What do you mean?" His voice was the softly cultured clipped Coruscanti accent, stronger than Qui-Gon's own. Travel had not diluted it.

"Students at the Temple rarely attack so viciously. They learn to defend, to wear one another down. They conserve their strength. Yet you fought…like a very dangerous man. You left yourself open to attack time and again, and relied upon the other boy to take the defensive stance."

"I wanted to end it quickly," Obi-Wan answered. "The Force allowed it."

A standard answer. Qui-Gon remained unmoved. "I'm not so sure. You cannot always rely upon your enemy to take the defensive stance. Your fighting style is dangerous, too risky."

"_You_ could teach me better." The boy's voice was filled with certainty as he tried to stare Qui-Gon down.

Qui-Gon bowed his head and very nearly smiled. This one was tenacious, he'd give him that. "Perhaps I could," he said. Then the ice around his heart snapped back into place and he levelled his gaze. "Or perhaps no one could. You were angry with the other boy. I sensed anger in both of you."

"That's not why I wanted to win," Obi-Wan's tone was earnest. _I __did __it __for __you__…_ Qui-Gon could read the words all over his face.

The Master studied him for a long moment, reaching past the surface with his senses, searching the boy's soul. He had a good and loyal heart, if a little turbulent, and a genuine desire to please. He could see why Yoda liked him.

But so had Xanatos always seemed, to him at any rate, and he knew all too well what had happened there. In the end he merely said, "In future fights, rein in your anger. A Jedi Knight never exhausts himself when battling a stronger foe. And never expect your enemy to miss an opportunity to do you harm."

With that Qui-Gon turned away and headed for the door. He sensed the sudden confusion and near panic behind him as Obi-Wan realised he was leaving.

"Wait!" the boy's voice brought him up short.

Qui-Gon glanced over his shoulder in time to see the young man fall to his knees.

"If I was wrong, it only means I need the best teacher. Will you take me with you?"

Qui-Gon turned back slowly, shocked that the young man would bow to his knees before him and beg for his acceptance. He was shocked further by his own feeling of pain and regret at the sight when for so long he thought himself incapable of feeling anything but bitterness. In that one moment he wished for things to be different. But the boy asked the impossible. He frowned for a long while before saying, "No."

"Qui-Gon Jinn, I will be thirteen in four weeks!" Obi-Wan appealed, eyes bright with the tears he was so stubbornly holding back. "You are my last chance to become a Jedi Knight."

Qui-Gon shook his head as if the motion would clear it of confusion. The Force was muddy and turbulent around him. He couldn't think clearly. All he knew was that something impossible was happening, something about this boy was calling to him, pulling at the broken pieces of his heart. But he couldn't do it, he couldn't…

Xanatos' face rose in his mind and stabbed him. Air was suddenly too thin.

He had to get out of here.

In parting all he could say was, "I think it's better not to train a boy to become a Knight if he has so much anger. There is a risk he will turn to the Dark Side." It sounded harsh to his own ears and he regretted it instantly but he had to let Kenobi know there was no chance. Swiftly he turned and strode back out of the door. But he wasn't fast enough to avoid hearing the boy's despairing words and they echoed in his ears as he retreated.

"I _won__'__t_ turn!"

But Qui-Gon kept on walking, not breaking stride until he was well out of sight and his emotions were back to a safe level of control. The battering they had just taken had taken him completely by surprise. Nothing had touched him for so long, he had been left unprepared.

Distantly he could sense a young heart trying to regain its own composure, and only marginally succeeding.

_Oh, __dear__Force,_ Qui-Gon leaned against the nearest wall and buried his face in his hands. How had it all come to this?

**(*)*(*)*(*)**

_Just have a little patience,_

_I'm still hurting from a love I lost,_

_I'm feeling your frustration_

_Like __any __minute __all __the __pain __will __stop_.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

An hour later Qui-Gon found himself kneeling quietly in the Star Map room. His feet often directed him here when he was in need of some peace. Today was no exception. Of all the rooms in the Jedi Temple this was his favourite. A velvety, dark blue ceiling curved into a dome above his head and the only light came from the holographic stars and planets that floated silently on the air around him.

Knowledge was so easily obtained here. He only had to reach out his hand and touch one of the represented stars to get a thorough audio briefing of everything one would possibly need to know about that system. Culture, history, natural resources.

But when it came to matters of the heart, so much was a mystery.

He tried unsuccessfully to get the sight of Obi-Wan's despairing face out of his head, but the memory seemed to be burned into his mind, tormenting him. He had rejected so many hopeful students over the years, why had this one affected him so deeply? It bothered him. He had told himself he had made the right decision. The only one he could make. He could not take another Padawan.

"The boy is not my responsibility," he said aloud to unseen listeners. Convincing who, he had no idea.

"So certain are you?"

Startled, Qui-Gon turned. Yoda was standing in the doorway, watching him closely. "I didn't hear you." How long had the other Master been waiting there?

Yoda stumped further into the star map room, leaning heavily on his wooden gimer stick. "A dozen students fought for you today, Master Qui-Gon. If choose an apprentice now you do not, the dreams of at least one of those younglings will die."

A longsuffering sigh forced its way past Qui-Gon's lips. He kept his eyes locked on a bright red star floating before his face, silently but firmly telling Yoda that the topic was not welcome and best left alone. "There will be more students next year. Perhaps then I will choose a Padawan." Qui-Gon wished the ancient Master would leave and let the matter drop. But he knew Yoda well enough to know that he would not leave until he made his point.

"Perhaps," Yoda agreed. "Or perhaps still reluctant, you will be. What of young Obi-Wan. Well he fought."

Qui-Gon forgot the star and finally looked at down at his companion, frowning heavily. Hundreds of initiates never made it to become Padawans. It was impossible to find Masters for all of them. Some just weren't meant to become Jedi Knights. _Why_ was Yoda so insistent on having _this_ boy trained?

"He fought…ferociously," he agreed finally, finding nothing else to say.

"Yes," said Yoda. "Like a boy I once knew long ago."

Splinters of barded ice slithered through Qui-Gon's guts. "_Don__'__t,_" he cut Yoda off. "Xanatos is gone. I don't want to be reminded."

"Not speaking of that one," Yoda said firmly. "Of _you_ I spoke."

Qui-Gon fell silent and bowed his head.

"Strong he is in the Force," the ancient Master tried again.

"And angry and reckless," Qui-Gon retorted, irritation beginning to edge his tone. "And likely to Turn."

"Not all angry young men to the Dark Side turn," Yoda said calmly. "Not if proper teacher they have."

"I will _not_ take him, Master Yoda," Qui-Gon said firmly.

Yoda sighed. The heavy weight of his disappointment filled the room. "Very well," he said. "But by chance we do not live our lives, Qui-Gon Jinn. If an apprentice you will not take, then, in time, perhaps choose Fate will."

"Perhaps," Qui-Gon agreed offhandedly, preparing to turn away. He hesitated. "What will happen to the boy?"

"For the Agricultural Corps he will work."

Qui-Gon grunted. "A farmer?" _Such __a __waste __of __potential_. "Tell him…" Qui-Gon struggled for something fitting to say. "Tell him that I wish him luck."

"Too late," Yoda said. "Already leaving for Bandomeer he is."

Qui-Gon rocked back on his heels. "Bandomeer?" he choked.

Yoda's long ears twitched. "Know the place, do you?"

"Know it? The Senate has asked me to go there at the personal request of the Meerian government. I'm leaving now." Qui-Gon eyed the small green Master accusingly. "You knew about this, didn't you?"

"Hmmm…" Yoda said, satisfaction glinting in his green eyes. "Knew it I did not. But more than coincidence this is. Strange are the ways of the Force."

"But why send the boy to Bandomeer?" Qui-Gon's voice began to rise. "It's a brutal world. If the weather doesn't kill him, the predators _will_. He'll need all of his skills just to survive - never mind the Agri-Corps!" Qui-Gon surprised himself with this sudden surge of defensiveness on the boy's behalf, and he groaned inwardly at it. Where had that come from?

"Yes, so the Council thought," Yoda said. "Good to grow crops Bandomeer may not be. But a good place for a young Jedi to grow it _is._"

"If he doesn't get himself killed," Qui-Gon growled. "You must have more faith in him than I do."

"Yes, my point that is," Master Yoda chuckled. "Listen harder you must."

Qui-Gon opened his mouth. Then shut it. Frustrated beyond words, he abruptly returned his attention to the stars.

"Study the stars you may, Qui-Gon," Yoda said as he left. "They have much to teach you. But will it be what you need to learn?"

The diminutive Master stumped from the room without waiting for an answer, clawed feet clicking on the polished floor.

Unheeding Qui-Gon sat there for a short while longer, struggling to take in this unexpected turn of events. So, he and the boy were headed to the same planet, were they? And if Kenobi was leaving now then that meant he must be leaving on the very same transport. Unbelievable!

Was this the 'fate' Yoda had spoken of moving all the pieces or the old Master's interfering hand? He seemed convinced that they should be brought together, that the Force wished it. Qui-Gon clenched is fists. The Force had no right to do this to him.

It wouldn't. Getting up he left the room, striding determinedly on the fastest route back to his quarters. The pace he set made certain no one got in his way. Once there, he quickly gathered up his travel pack, still slung untouched in the corner where he had left it. He then turned and headed straight back out of the door.

Whatever plan Yoda had to get him to accept the boy was going to fail. Qui-Gon could avoid him as easily on that transport as he could in the Temple. The boy didn't even have to know he was aboard. Secure in that knowledge, he made his way to the docking bay. He was not staying here a minute longer.

**(*)*(*)*(*)**

It was now mid-afternoon and the hanger was heaving when Qui-Gon arrived, bustling with engineering staff, pilots and Jedi. Much like the vast city outside bustled with its citizens. Qui-Gon could sense every pin prick of life through the Force, each one adding to and flowing along with its infinite power. The planet vibrated in his mind.

For a Force-sensitive who had never visited Coruscant, Qui-Gon guessed the experience of Coruscant would be quite overwhelming, but as one who had been raised and trained in the Jedi Temple, Qui-Gon had grown used to muting the City's 'buzz' and pushing it to the edge of his awareness. He couldn't have lived over forty years with a constant headache. Even so, this was yet another thing he was glad to be leaving behind.

Despite the crowd it was an easy task for him to pick out the ship he needed above the sea of heads. The Monument was a large transport, bigger than most of the others docked here, but no other signs of luxury were apparent. Its reddish, metal outer hull was dented and battered, scarred by age. Qui-Gon was forced to wonder at its space worthiness. He walked forward nonetheless; if that heap of scrap was the way out then he would gladly take it. Forging his way across the hanger, Qui-Gon quickly gained the landing ramp of the old transport. The Jedi Master drew a cleansing breath then released all his fears and frustrations into the Force on the exhale, casting them aside on the threshold of a new journey. Calmer he entered the ship.

He wasn't at all surprised to find that the inside of the Monument was as luxurious as the outside promised. The corridors were narrow and in disrepair. Panels hung off the walls, leaving a whole manner of wires and pipes exposed to the open. The smell of cloying dampness was thick on the warm air. Qui-Gon gave a short, mirthless laugh. Obi-Wan Kenobi must have wondered what had hit him, pushed from the clean, sculpted halls of the Temple into this pla—

_Stop __thinking __about __the __boy!_ Qui-Gon admonished his inner voice. He would forget about him.

Slowly he wandered down the grubby corridors. The only thing to occupy his mind now was to find his quarters and settle in for the long journey. The number they had given him meant his room was situated on the Arconan half of the ship. He had been warned that the Offworld Mining workers were quite possessive of their own half and took unkindly to trespassers. No matter. Talks between the two corporations would not start until they reached Bandomeer. Qui-Gon would have preferred not to spend the trip in the company of several dozen Hutts anyway.

A few moments and a couple of wrong turns later the Jedi Master came to a halt next to a door marked as vacant. He glanced at the number on the frame. 13b. This was the one. Punching the door's control panel Qui-Gon entered his assigned quarters, taking them in at a glance. Small, filled only with the most basic facilities and not much else. A plain, narrow bunk was tucked into the corner, opposite a small 'fresher unit. There was also a mirror and a single storage unit below a meagre shelf.

Everything was lean and without comfort, but all in all Qui-Gon was not disappointed, the room was functional and would suit his needs. Even the small sleep pallet did not cause him much concern. He had long ago learned to cope with cramming his tall frame into mean travel spaces.

Sliding the survival bag off his shoulder, Qui-Gon began to unpack his few belongings, a task that was well practiced and did not take him long. Most of what he carried was tucked into the pouches of his utility belt anyway. A Jedi needed to travel light.

Task complete, he settled himself upon his knees beside the bed and rested his hands comfortably upon his thighs. Maybe later he would seek out the ship's mess and see what it had to offer in the way of food. His stomach was beginning to remind him of the denied tea and the last meal long forgotten. But for now he pushed his body's needs aside. He would meditate first. After this most recent ordeal in the Temple, his long missed centre needed to be regained. He had a mission to complete. He couldn't afford distraction.

Bowing his head Qui-Gon breathed in and then out, reaching for the Force around him, drawing it to him.

He breathed again. Deeper this time. The Force wrapped itself around him. It did not bring comfort.

Desperation. _Master __Jinn!_

_Master Jinn. I will be thirteen in four weeks._

No. Qui-Gon shook his head.

_My last chance…_

_Stop __that! _Qui-Gon shouted silently at the niggling energy around him. _I__cannot__do__it._ Stubbornly he blocked the remembered voice from his mind and cleared his thoughts, going deeper into himself.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Slowly his mind quieted. He became aware of everything and yet nothing. The Force inside him, the floor beneath him. He was aware of the ship lifting away from the Temple, rising up from Coruscant and powering into the sky. He knew the instant the Monument left the atmosphere and blasted off on its journey through space. Every rattle and strain was apparent to him.

Breathe in.

Qui-Gon gathered all his troubles together upon the breath; his frustrations, his long guilt, his sorrow, his anger at the Council. He gathered it all together, imagining it rising up from his chest, rising with the air in his lungs, fully preparing to release it into the Force and wash himself clean.

Of course it didn't work. His breath released but the burdens of his heart didn't go with it. They never truly did. Not now. Not since…

Qui-Gon screwed his eyes shut. At least meditation still offered him a clearer mind if not a clearer heart and conscience. It gave him focus. But try as he might he found even that small victory denied to him now. He shifted on his knees. The Force was dancing around him, prodding, making him uneasy. It seemed intent on making him feel like he should be somewhere else. That he should be doing something other than kneeling here on the floor. It wouldn't let him rest. _What __is __it __now?_He wanted to ask.

Finding himself more frustrated than when he had started the exercise, Qui-Gon growled softly in displeasure and began to pull himself out of the useless meditation. Even after Xanatos, he usually achieved better results than that.

A sharp knock at the door brought his head up.

Expecting a greeting from the Arconan Mining foreperson, Clat'Ha, he got up to answer it, glad of the distraction. But to his complete surprise, he was not met by the young human woman from his briefings. Instead, he was greeted by an elderly Bothan male. His uniform haled him as the ship's chief medical officer.

The healer gave a hasty bow which Qui-Gon returned, slightly confused by the other's presence. He was not aware that a medical exam was compulsory on this ship. Especially when their departure had been from a civilised world. Coruscant itself, no less.

Bothan straightened, fur rippling. He was concerned about something. "Master Jedi, forgive me for intruding but I did not know where else to turn. A terrible incident has occurred on the lower decks."

Qui-Gon frowned heavily and indicated that the medic should go on. An unpleasant feeling took a hold somewhere within the pit of his stomach. They had barely lifted off and already there was trouble. The situation amongst the miners must be more volatile than he had first believed. So much for a quiet trip. The Force prodded at him again, stronger than before. Something was very wrong.

The Bothan shifted under his suddenly intent stare and his words, when they came, were like daggers. "It's the young boy from the Temple, sir. Obi-Wan Kenobi? He was found not long ago in a corridor. He has been seriously injured, Master Jedi. My staff carried him to the sick bay but-"

The rest of his sentence met empty air as Qui-Gon swept out of the door, all the vows he had made to himself were forgotten in an instant. He gave no thought to it. Later he would wonder at his reaction, but quite suddenly the only thing that mattered to him was reaching the boy's side. The Force swirled, more uneasy than ever.

"What happened to him?" he demanded as the healer struggled to keep up and direct the Master.

"We believe he strayed onto Offworld territory. His injuries suggest a run in with a Hutt. He's-he's taken quite a beating." The old Bothan was fighting to breathe and speak at the same time. "We have treated his wounds but his condition hasn't improved. I'm afraid there may be some internal damage. That's beyond what we can treat on this ship. Infection is a danger, too."

Qui-Gon nodded tersely as they reached the sickbay doors. The healer entered and quickly showed Qui-Gon to a small room at the back of the main ward. "He's through there," he said. "I hope you can do more for him than us, Master Jedi."

Qui-Gon pressed his lips together and gave another short nod before moving inside. His eyes immediately went to the med bed in the centre of the room. The sight that greeted him almost stopped his heart in his chest. He didn't know what he had been expecting but reality stopped him in his tracks. Obi-Wan Kenobi, the spirited boy, whom he had watched ably wielding a lightsaber just a few short hours ago, was now lying broken on a medical bed. Stripped of his Jedi tunics and dressed in a thin white med gown he looked so much smaller than Qui-Gon remembered and infinitely younger.

Livid red marks wound round the boy's throat, already beginning to purple. The pattern betrayed the thick fingers of a massive hand, a hand that must have stopped just this side of crushing. Qui-Gon's gaze continued up. Blackened bruises adorned the pale cheeks, half hidden beneath a large mask covering most of his face. Ugly, outdated tubes pierced his battered arms, pumping much needed fluids into his bloodstream. On wooden legs Qui-Gon moved to Obi-Wan's side. A numbed hand found the bloodied forehead. It was hot and slick with fever. The boy stirred restlessly under his touch.

Soothing him with a wordless murmur, Qui-Gon managed to find his voice enough to address the medic still hovering in the doorway. "Have somebody fetch my survival kit from my quarters, now," he said, voice soft but urgent.

To his credit the medic did not question, only nodded and left quickly. Qui-Gon returned his attention to Obi-Wan, fingers carefully tracing the bruises. Anger swept aside his sorrow as he catalogued the damage. He had warned Yoda. He had _told_ him this would happen. He had had no business sending the boy into such a volatile place. But the old Master had been adamant.

_Good place for a young Jedi to grow, it is._

_You must have more faith in him than I do._

_Yes, __my __point __that __is,_came the old troll's frustrating answer. _Listen __harder __you __should._

Well that wouldn't help the boy now. Qui-Gon sat down on the edge of the bed. They weren't even planet side yet and already Obi-Wan was fighting for his life. A young assistant returned with his gear moments later and Qui-Gon set to work. He had to move fast. The boy's fever was rising rapidly and it had to be stopped before it caused irreversible damage, or worse, killed him. He shot his system with strong antibiotics then centred himself in the Force, drawing its energy to him.

Reaching out, Qui-Gon tuned himself to Obi-Wan's body until he could sense every function, every breath and heartbeat. As soon as he achieved this state, however, a spark of light went off in his mind and he very nearly lost his connection to the Force. The sensation startled him out of his wits. He knew what _that_ was. Now that they were so closely bound through the Force it was impossible for Qui-Gon not to detect the tiny connection that lay between them. Disbelief washed through him. It shouldn't be possible. But there it was.

The connection shone like a thin golden light in his mind's eye, running from him to the boy and back again, just waiting for something to occur that would forge it into a fully fledged bond. Something like what he was doing now.

Almost Qui-Gon tore away, fear sliding through his guts. He did not know how this had come about but he did not want it. A bond could not be allowed to exist between them.

It was only the need to save the boy's life that kept him in place and he raged against the trap he was in. But he had no choice. He could not let the child die because of personal feelings. With great difficulty he pushed his fears aside and went back to work, feeling for the damage and getting to know where his help was needed most. Through the Force Obi-Wan's body and life's energy became a mere extension of his own.

And it was fading, the boy's life-force was growing dim.

_Oh, __no __you __don__'__t!_ Qui-Gon thought fiercely, tightening his grip on the thinning strands tying the young man to life and mentally digging in his heels.

He was no Jedi Healer but all Jedi were taught to some extent to use their abilities for healing. In their profession it was a necessity. Medics weren't always on hand when you were bleeding to death in inaccessible places.

Nevertheless he wished for a Temple Healer now. The task set before him would test his rudimentary healing skills to the limit. It required a mind at peace and completely at one with the Force. He wasn't sure he could rise to the challenge.

_No_. He banished the thought. No matter what he would not, could not, lose this battle. The boy would survive. He was important. Somehow in that moment he knew it. Obi-Wan Kenobi could not be lost.

As the ship's healer had predicted, there was internal bleeding, Obi-Wan's life's essence was slipping silently away, an unseen killer. Quickly Qui-Gon worked to stem the sluggish flow, bringing the Force's power to bear. Very carefully he brought the ruptured tissues together.

Sharp pain suddenly filtered through the connection in his mind and for a second it almost blew his concentration. He was hurting the boy. Qui-Gon threw whatever concentration he had to spare at Kenobi's mind, willing it deeper into unconsciousness. It fought for a moment, then the sense of hurt receded as the boy slipped completely under.

Relieved of the shared mental sensation of pain, Qui-Gon now turned his full attention on the tissues he held so shakily together. He had not had to exercise such a fine control of the Force in years, and it was almost beyond him. His brows came together with the effort as he extended himself, pushing healing energy at the tears. _Heal,_ he whispered, willing the soft tissues to knit.

For long moments passed there was no change. No response. Qui-Gon began to fear that his first instinct had been right. He did not have the skill nor the power. Not any more. Had he been turning his back on the Force for so long, that it had, in turn, shut him out?

Obi-Wan's life force slipped again in his grasp.

_No! _Qui-Gon grabbed the boy's unresponsive hand and held onto it, letting the physical contact focus him. Gritting his teeth he plunged himself into the Force. Using everything he had, he dragged the cords of light back to him. _Heal!_ he shouted as he unleashed all his energy on the boy's damaged body.

This time it obeyed. Not in a rush. Slow. Excruciatingly slow. But it _was_ responding. Under Qui-Gon's focused assault the damage began to knit together. Heat tingled at the torn edges and a healing flow of blood, carefully controlled by Qui-Gon, rushed to where it was needed, clotting and sealing until the tender tissues came together.

Trembling from the effort he had had to put forward Qui-Gon started to loosen his hold, praying to the Force that what he had done was enough. After a tense minute he released his hold completely.

The damage held.

Qui-Gon sagged in relief. He had no way to know if his aid had come soon enough but he had done all he could. And he could spare no time to worry about it. Allowing himself only a few moment's rest, just enough to still his body's trembling, he drew on the Force's power once more. Now he went after the spreading infection. The antibiotics he had administered had done a good job so far, but traces of the threat were still there, trying to multiply. He could feel them like an invader in the boy's body. Extending his concentration, he sped up the effect of the antibiotics, purging the last of the stubborn infection from the boy's bloodstream. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead but he pursued his task with iron determination until it was completed.

With the major threats neutralised, Qui-Gon drew back slightly, drawing in a deep breath. The trembling in his body told him how much of his own reserves he had just used up and he was bordering on a massive headache. But he would not allow himself to rest just yet. _Soon_, he promised his protesting brain as he slowly refocused on the less life threatening injuries, sending messages of healing to the disturbing bruises and cracked bones, accelerating the boy's recovery within and without. The skin was still burning and he encouraged the raging heat, no longer needed, to cool.

Long minutes passed, turning into slow hours that felt like days. Twice over Qui-Gon had to keep a tight grip on the boy's life force, anchoring him until his blood pressure had time to rise again. The internal bleeding had taken its toll. At times he still feared the worst but Qui-Gon worked until at last his determination was rewarded and Obi-Wan's condition stabilised during the late hours of the night.

Relief was like a wash of cool water and Qui-Gon released his concentration with an exhausted sigh. Aches and pains thudded through him, his body protested at the abuse and the position it had been forced to hold for so long. Qui-Gon quieted the aches with a tired thought.

He had done his job. The boy was out of danger now, though he still needed rest and time to make a complete recovery. Carefully he led the young mind into a healing trance, directing its energies to finish what Qui-Gon had begun. He gave a mild Force command to make sure the boy stayed like that until morning.

He lingered just long enough to make sure the suggestion had been heeded before backing away and releasing the hold he had on the boy's hand. Within the Force he blocked any remaining tie that might exist between himself and Obi-Wan Kenobi. With any luck he wouldn't have changed anything between them and that strange connection he had found would eventually fade with continued disuse.

Qui-Gon dragged a chair over to the med bed and sank into it. He supposed he was free to go now and leave the boy in the hands of the medics. But he couldn't quite bring himself to turn away and go back to his own quarters. He convinced himself that he just wanted to make sure that Kenobi would make a full recovery. He could then leave with a clean conscience and safely go back to putting the boy out of his mind. It certainly wouldn't do any harm. He would be long gone by the time the boy woke. And, right now, he was forced to admit to himself that he might not make it back to his own quarters without falling over. Not something a Jedi Master should be seen doing. Decided, he settled down.

Eased now of his wounds and fever, Kenobi slept peacefully beneath his watchful gaze. He was completely still except for the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath the white blankets. Qui-Gon studied him critically for a few moments. The bruises were already fading but the blood from the numerous abrasions still traced the abused skin. He didn't like it.

Making a quick study of the room he spied a clean cloth and a basin on the far side, obviously abandoned in place of more pressing matters.

Pulling himself back to his feet, Qui-Gon retrieved the objects and brought them to the bedside. The water inside the basin had long since cooled, it was barely lukewarm against Qui-Gon's fingers as he dipped the cloth. No matter. The water was clean and that was the most important thing.

Squeezing the soft material until it was just this side of damp; he began to gently bathe the dried blood from Obi-Wan's skin. He started with his arms and worked his way up, careful not to disturb the newly sealed wounds. He reached the boy's forehead last of all. Here a gash had been opened near Obi-Wan's hairline. All that remained of the actual wound now was a tender pink line, but the drying blood had seeped into the boy's hair, caking it and gluing it together until it stood in spiky clumps.

Wetting his cloth, Qui-Gon carefully washed the boy's short, reddish hair clean.

Unexpectedly, this task gave him sudden pause. Something important was missing. The boy's braid was gone. The long thin lock signifying Obi-Wan's status as a Jedi apprentice was no more. Qui-Gon felt an odd jolt pass through his chest as he touched the harsh bristles behind the boy's right ear, betraying hair recently sheared.

Of course the braid would be gone, he told himself sternly. Kenobi was no longer a student so the braid held no more significance. But the severing of such a symbol just seemed so… terribly final. It must have been hard on the boy. In that moment, Qui-Gon experienced another strong ripple of guilt and a brief sense of _wrongness_. He hardened himself against both and swiftly finished his task without more thought. When he finally set the basin aside the boy was looking much better.

Satisfied, the Master returned to his seat. With a quick glance, he made sure none of the boy's belongings had gone missing. Everything seemed to be accounted for. His Jedi tunics lay folded at the foot of the bed. On top of those lay his utility belt, his boots and – Qui-Gon's eyebrows rose – the silver hilt of a lightsaber.

Qui-Gon fought against another painful realisation. That was no training blade that sat there, but a real weapon. It seemed that Kenobi had achieved the honour of building his own lightsaber. It was rare that an initiate made such an accomplishment before Padawanship. He saw now that this boy must have been an extraordinary student.

And now, because of him, he would never use that blade in the service of a Knight. If at all. The braid was gone.

Still, student, Knight or not, a Jedi should never be far from his weapon. Qui-Gon was mildly surprised that the Hutt who had attacked the boy had not taken it as a trophy. It would have been quite a symbol of prestige to have captured a Jedi's weapon.

Too much evidence, Qui-Gon supposed, with a possibly 'vengeful' Jedi Master aboard ship. The Hutt must have been a smart one. Maybe with enough power not to need such prestige, and one to bear watching in the negotiations to come. Filing these thoughts away, Qui-Gon called the polished hilt to his hand with a quick tug of the Force. It flew up from the end of the bed and landed obediently in his broad palm. Holding it before him he studied it carefully for a long moment, old habit causing him to scan for an insight into the boy sleeping beside him on the med bed. From what he had seen so far, he couldn't help but be slightly intrigued.

There wasn't much to tell from a simple glance. The outward appearance of the hilt was simple, functional and basic. Padawan's usually designed their first lightsabers loosely on their Master's own, to honour their new teacher. As they progressed over the years, the designs would gradually become more independent, a silent reflection of the student's own growth within themselves. But of course, Kenobi's did not even have the starting influence of a Master's weapon. The layout was nothing more than a basic remake of the training models at the Temple. There was no 'personality'.

Qui-Gon dismissed that as he rotated the weapon patiently in his hands. Outward appearance wasn't important. The hilt was sturdy and well made and would fit the hands of a twelve-year-old like a glove. The balance was near perfect. When activated he was certain the blade would be sound and certain. Serious study had gone into its construction. The boy must have given it his all.

A sad smile crossed Qui-Gon's face as he set the weapon gently on the bedside table close to Obi-Wan's head.

The boy would panic if he could not find it upon waking.

Enough for one night. Drawing his cloak closer around himself, Qui-Gon settled more comfortably into his chosen seat. His eyes drifted closed as his exhaustion finally took hold and within moments he had let himself drift into a replenishing sleep.

He awoke at dawn, or what passed for dawn while travelling in deep space. Consulting his internal clock he surmised that he had slept for about four hours. Not bad in a chair. Feeling refreshed he stretched each muscle where he sat, listening as several joints popped satisfyingly.

It was time to be gone. Obi-Wan would wake within the hour and he did not want to be seen.

Qui-Gon glanced down at the still blissfully unconscious boy. The flushed skin had returned to a healthy pinkish colour. All of his vitals read normal. Pleased, the Jedi Master reached out with a hand to recheck his temperature one last time before he left.

"Hhhmmpphh?"

The boy's stirred beneath his touch. Qui-Gon froze. He watched the eyelids flicker as the boy fought to surface, throwing off the Force suggestion that should have kept him under for at least another hour.

All the air fled the room and Qui-Gon suddenly felt like a caged animal. He had misjudged. He shouldn't be here. It was not good for either one of them.

Too late, he could only watch, helpless, as Obi-Wan opened his eyes. The boy blinked blearily for several moments, struggling to focus his world before inevitably setting his gaze to rest on the Master sitting beside him. The boy blinked again, a heavy frown creased his brows as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing.

"H-how?" the murmur came from around sluggish lips.

"Try not to speak," Qui-Gon said, swallowing his failure with the situation. "You were badly injured in an attack but I've taken care of it. Your condition turned out to be worse than the medics could handle."

Unblinking, the boy continued to stare blankly at him for a few moments longer. It was as if he still couldn't quite believe what his swirly vision was telling him. "Is it really you?"

Despite himself, Qui-Gon felt a smile steal onto his face at the befuddled question. "Yes, it's really me."

Obi-Wan's face lightened. "I can't believe you're here." He smiled slightly. "But you have been…" his eyes flickered as if searching for a distant memory. "I tried to leave, but it was you… you called me back. You…saved me." He reached up then and Qui-Gon realised belatedly that his hand was still resting on the boy's forehead. He pulled it away quickly before Obi-Wan could grasp his fingers, tucking it out of sight beneath his dark robe. A flash of hurt and the boy quickly dropped his own hand back to the covers.

A few silent minutes passed and Qui-Gon could sense the boy's mind become fully awake. He shifted under the covers and as if to cover the awkward moment, he asked hopefully, "Did you come looking for me?"

Qui-Gon closed his eyes. There it was. The tentative question he had so dreaded yet knew to be inevitable now the boy had seen him. Exhaustion aside, he should left when he had the chance. Why had he become so complacent? "No, young one," he said, letting the boy down as gently as possible. "I am here on a mission from the Senate, and for no other reason."

But the rekindled hope in the boy was resilient and refused to be turned aside so easily, "Still, we're together. Perhaps-"

"No, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said in a firmer tone. "We are headed for the same planet, but our missions there are entirely separate. I did not come here to seek you out. You must accept the task you have been given and forget about me."

The boy's face fell but before he could form a reply the door to the med room opened just a crack. Luminous, faceted eyes peered in, only to disappear again when they found themselves under the scrutiny of two Jedi. The door closed with a snap.

Awkward silence descended again. The boy glanced at Qui-Gon a few times, but Qui-Gon did not meet his eyes. To be honest with himself, he did not know what to do or say, either. What could he do or say? He had said all there was to be said and that was that.

He got up, fully intending to excuse himself when the door opened again. This time a young woman strode boldly into the room. Her presence vibrated in Qui-Gon's mind as she came up to the bed, sweeping back a thick wave of red-brown hair. Green eyes smiled down at Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Clat'Ha. Qui-Gon recognised her in an instant. She looked younger than she did in her profile. Too young to be running a mining operation but Qui-Gon knew age could be as deceptive as size and should never be judged upon. He had no doubt that this woman beside them now was one to be reckoned with.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to tangle with a Hutt?" she asked brusquely after exchanging a nod with Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan seemed slightly nonplussed by her blunt approach. "I… No." He sighed and mumbled; "I didn't seem to have much of a choice."

The woman's eyes softened sympathetically. "I know what you mean. But you survived and that's something at least. You're lucky I found you when I did."

So Clat'Ha had found the boy after his beating. Qui-Gon knew that in doing so she had saved his life. The boy obviously came to this conclusion, too

"Thank you," he said softly.

"Don't think of it," she waved him off. "You're not one of ours, but anyone who gets up Jemba's nose is a friend of mine."

"Ours...?" the boy asked blearily, "Jemba...?" He was still battling disorientation and fatigue. Qui-Gon decided to take pity on him.

"This is Clat'Ha, chief operations manager for the Arconan Mineral Harvest Corporation."

The young face cleared. "Obi-Wan Kenobi," the boy introduced himself in turn. He tried to sit up and offer a hand but crumpled and fell back with a soft moan.

"Careful," Qui-Gon stood quickly and bent over him in concern. "Your body has healed well but it will still be tender for a while. Try to keep still."

Obi-Wan nodded tiredly and did not attempt to move again. His eyes closed for a moment and Qui-Gon could feel him trying to accept his pain and let it go. The Master scanned him quickly with the Force, making sure no damage had been caused. Somehow, the boy seemed to know what he was doing because he opened his eyes and stared quizzically at him.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi?" Clat'Ha's voice broke the silence. Her eyes flicked from Obi-Wan to Qui-Gon and back again before widening in realisation. "You're the young Jedi from the Temple! The crew was looking everywhere for you!"

The boy turned his head carefully, contrite for the trouble caused. "Sorry."

"Well it hardly matters now." Clat'Ha brushed it off once more. "You're here. What I don't understand is why Jemba beat you if you don't work for us."

Obi-Wan shrugged minutely. "You tell me." He blinked. His jaw moved. Qui-Gon guessed he was checking for all of his teeth. "I was only looking for my cabin. I certainly wasn't trying to get up anyone's 'nose'."

Qui-Gon watched as the woman beamed. She seemed to like the boy. "You are a tough one, aren't you? Not everyone could withstand that kind of a pounding at the hands of a Hutt." She stepped past Qui-Gon and leaned over the boy. "Good luck to you, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You better watch yourself from now on." She glanced at Qui-Gon. "You too, Master Jedi. You've stepped right into the middle of a war. You might not be so lucky next time." With that she turned to leave.

"War?" Qui-Gon frowned. This was new to him. As he understood it, he was going to Bandomeer to meditate a mining dispute. How volatile could this situation be?

Clat'Ha turned. "Offworld's war. They didn't get to be one of the oldest and most powerful mining companies by letting others compete with them, Master Jedi," she said seriously. "Miners who get in their way tend to… disappear."

Qui-Gon absorbed this without comment. Sadly it was a situation he had come across all too often. Those in power often didn't come by it in lawful ways. He faced the young forewoman, hoping to glean any information from her that would help him in the coming negotiations and fill the gaps in his briefings. "Who leads Offworld?" he asked.

Clat'Ha came and sat carefully on the edge of Obi-Wan's bed. The boy was also paying close attention. He had learned his lessons well. "No one knows who owns Offworld," she told him. "Someone who has been around for centuries, most probably. I'm not even sure we could even prove that he or she is responsible for the murders. But the leader of the faction on this ship is a particularly ruthless Hutt by the name of Jemba. Your friend." She nodded towards Obi-Wan. "He uses the cheapest labour possible. On Outer Rim worlds and on such places like Bandomeer, where the Republic's laws don't reach, half of Jemba's workforce will be Whiphid slaves. And that's not the worst…" Clat'Ha hesitated for the slightest moment then fell silent.

Obi-Wan picked up on it as quickly as Qui-Gon. "What's the worst," the boy asked carefully.

Clat'Ha's eyes flashed green fire, this was not something she had wanted to discuss. "About five years ago, Jemba was Offworld's chieftain on the planet Varristad, where another startup mining firm was also working. Varristad is a small planet, it has no atmosphere. All the workers lived in a huge underground dome. Someone or something popped a hole in that dome. The artificial atmosphere was instantly destroyed and a quarter of a million people were killed. No one could ever prove that Jemba did it, but when the other company went bankrupt, he was able to buy the mineral rights for practically nothing. Offworld made a huge profit of the back of a disaster. Now we will have to deal with that monster on Bandomeer."

"Are you absolutely sure it was intentional," Qui-Gon asked, an ingrained habit to never assume anything taking over, though in this situation he hardly doubted Clat'Ha's words. "It could have been an accident."

Clat'Ha looked just as unconvinced. "Maybe, but accidents follow Jemba the way stink follows a Whiphid-accidents like young Obi-Wan here. Drilling rigs blow, tunnels collapse and people do die. So take care."

There was something she was holding back. Qui-Gon could sense it- an old pain and fear. The desire for revenge. He opened his mouth to question but to his surprise Obi-Wan got there first. The boy was perceptive.

"Who did you know on Varristad?" A young hand reached out to touch Clat'Ha's.

Something inside Qui-Gon softened very slightly at the sight of the boy's compassion and he let it exist for a moment. The boy was showing all the makings of a true Jedi Knight. Maybe Yoda had been right. It was a pity no one had claimed this boy as a Padawan Learner.

Clat'Ha opened her mouth in surprise, but she shook her head stubbornly. "No one," she lied.

The boy's grip on her hand tightened. "Clat'Ha, it can't be allowed to continue. And the Monument isn't Offworld's ship! They shouldn't be allowed to go around beating people just for straying into certain corridors."

Clat'Ha's eyes lit up in sudden amusement. "And who's gonna stop them, my courageous young Jedi? Maybe this isn't their ship, but the Offworld miners outnumber the crew thirty to one. The captain can't protect anyone. So if I were you, I'd stay off their turf. You're welcome on our side of the ship, of course. Both of you." She then flashed a grin at the boy. "If you can find it, that is."

The boy grinned back as she turned and left. It was the first time Qui-Gon had seen the boy smile. The action lit up his entire face. Infectious.

It fell, however, the moment the door had closed. It was almost like a light had been turned out. The boy turned serious eyes upon Qui-Gon.

"This isn't right," he said. "Why should they have to accept that? Why should Offworld control where people go?"

Qui-Gon was silent as he met the boy's eyes, trying to remind himself that Kenobi was a complete innocent. The Jedi Master tried to recall being that innocent and how he had felt on his first days as a Padawan, coming to terms with the rougher world that was the galaxy outside the Temple.

Obi-Wan shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny. "Can't you do anything?" he asked.

"No. Not yet."

"But-"

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon began, forcing patience. He was not used to being questioned by one so young. "What would you have me do? Clat'Ha is right. It is better to accept things for the time being."

"But why?"

Qui-Gon gated a sigh. "Because she wouldn't want Offworld on her side of the ship, either. It is best this way."

Obi-Wan fell silent and Qui-Gon felt another pang of sympathy. He stepped carefully up to the bedside and looked into the young face. The boy's skin was already a few shades paler than before.

"Do not worry, Obi-Wan Kenobi," he said softly. "This dispute is none of your concern. When the time comes I will do my best to resolve it. You need to rest now and recover from your ordeal."

The boy only nodded, seemingly too exhausted to protest further. Qui-Gon suspected he might well have done, otherwise. He could sense a stubborn streak in there that might very well match his own. The thought nearly drew a smile.

"Good luck to you, young one. I must leave you now in the hands of the medics. Farewell."

Straightening he turned to go but the boy's voice called after him and stopped him on the threshold. "Will I see you again?"

_No._ Qui-Gon turned around. _No,__you__won__'__t.__You__can__'__t._ He met the hopeful yet apprehensive blue-green eyes and opened his mouth. "Of course you will."

_Blast! __No!_ Qui-Gon drew himself up in shock at his own words, but he couldn't take them back now. The boy was fairly beaming on the inside though he was trying not to outwardly show it. What had he _done_? Keeping his mouth firmly shut Qui-Gon turned and all but fled the room.

The door whisked closed behind him and he strode far down the corridor before stopping to gather his wits. Never in the whole of the Force had he intended to return. He tilted his head back in helpless frustration. As soon as he had met Kenobi's eyes he just hadn't been able to deny him. He felt like he was sliding out of control down a slippery slope and he had no power with which to stop himself. And it had all started since laying eyes on Obi-Wan Kenobi back in that blasted training room.

He did not care for the feeling in the slightest. With a sharp, direct motion, he carried on walking, attempting to leave his problems on his heels. He would not lose control of his life. Stubbornly banishing any thoughts of Obi-Wan Kenobi, he decided to lose himself in routine and focus on his own needs for now. Returning to his own quarters he washed and dressed in a fresh tunic, then turned to the next course of action. His stomach was shouting the loudest so he decided now would a good time to seek out the _Monument_'s mess hall.

For a while he wandered the bland corridors without any real direction. Whoever owned the ship mustn't have thought it a good investment to install directions on the old grey walls. It might have been nice, though, because they all looked the same. It wasn't a surprise Obi-Wan had-

Qui-Gon shook his head in exasperation. He turned round. None of the crew was about for him to ask. No matter. He focused on the ship around him. Not on the sight or sound of it, but on the scent. It was time for morning meal. The kitchens would be in full service, catering to the waking crew and passengers. Such scents carried. Especially to those who could not remember when they had last eaten.

Picking up on something promising, Qui-Gon set off unerringly down the corridors, long strides eating up the distance as he travelled down one passageway and then another. He took a turbo lift down one level and a few minutes later discovered the ship's eatery somewhere in the bowels of the _Monument_.

The dining area was large and wide with the steaming kitchens situated on the far side. Strong smells of cooking filled the room mixed faintly with the scents of a variety of beings. The refectionary appeared to be a neutral area for the opposing mining factions. Facet-eyed, scaled Arconans and the furry Offworld Whiphids could both be found sitting at the many tables, though obviously not together. No Hutts were present. They obviously didn't deign to eat with lesser workers.

Qui-Gon wasn't complaining. Lifting a tray from a nearby rack he moved to the end of the line curling its way along the serving stations. He drew a few looks – ranging from nervous glances from a huddled bunch of Arconan workers to contemptuous glares from many of the Offworlders. Qui-Gon paid them no mind. A Jedi inspired strong emotions in friend and foe alike wherever they went.

Reaching one of the serving stations he made a selection of what was on offer then retreated with his meal to an almost empty corner. A place where he could watch the whole room. It was a technique he had picked up over the years. Often the best way to gain valuable insights into those around you was to observe them in places such as this, places where beings did not think they were being observed. They did not guard their intent so well as they did during hard negotiation.

Qui-Gon picked up his utensil and took a bite. It wasn't too bad. He scanned the room. The Whiphids strutted around as if they owned the place. Their body language broadcasted that they were the ones in control here. In stark comparison, the Arconans huddled around their tables trying to avoid eye contact with anyone but each one another. Their nervousness was almost palatable.

Clat'Ha's claims weren't far wrong about the situation aboard the Monument.

The Whiphids dishes consisted of mainly meats while the Arconans seemed to favour roots and certain vegetables, which were sprinkled liberally with strange yellow crystals. Dactyl. Qui-Gon recalled that it was a vital mineral in the Arconan diet. They could only survive so long without it. Clat'Ha would have a large stash somewhere to keep her workforce healthy throughout the trip.

Qui-Gon finished the rest of his breakfast quickly then left the dining hall. For the rest of the day he busied himself with exploring the ship, trying to occupy his mind so that it would not become weighed down with other matters. This routine was nothing out of the ordinary, he always made a habit of familiarising himself with each environment he found himself in. Such knowledge could sometimes mean the difference between life and death. A Jedi never left anything to chance. But often his mind betrayed him and thoughts of Obi-Wan would break through his rigid discipline along with thoughts of the future and thoughts of the past. And each time this happened he would be filled with frustration and pain alike. Any thought of the boy only reminded him further of what he had lost, as he had always known it would. This was why he so stubbornly fought the Council every year, and now look what had happened anyway.

By mid afternoon, Qui-Gon's only gain from his attempted distraction was that he could now find his way around the Arconan side of the ship with his eyes closed. He knew the fastest route to the bridge and the med bay, all of the engineering ports, the location of the escape pods. He knew the intricate crew passages and had familiarised himself with the shifts and guard changes. He also made sure he knew the Offworld boundaries intimately.

This was not because he feared the consequences of stepping over the line. He doubted Jemba's lackeys could pose much of a threat to him if he did decide to go over there, but he knew that it was best not to stir up trouble until it was absolutely necessary. Which was a pity. A trio of Jemba's men glared at him now as he passed by one of the boundaries. They looked at him insolently with black, beady eyes nestled in their long, thickly furred faces. Clawed hands fingered their weapons as if daring him to overstep the mark. Qui-Gon looked darkly back and resisted the urge to lift them off their feet with the Force and throw them down the corridor with the merest of thoughts, teach them that it was not wise to rouse a Jedi's wroth. His temper had not been what it once was and the strain of the past couple days had stretched him to the limits of his patience. But he resisted the urge to give these bullying scoundrels a lesson they would never forget. To take all of his pain and frustration and unleash it upon them. But such thoughts took him dangerously close to the Dark. It was behaviour not worthy of a Jedi Master. He could not go down that road. He turned and walked away, ignoring their smug smiles and quiet jeers.

The evening hours drew in and Qui-Gon was forced to turn his feet back to his quarters. He could find no more distraction. He briefly considered checking back on Obi-Wan now and getting it over with, but after playing with the idea for a moment he quickly rejected it. The boy needed rest and his false hopes would be quick to rise if Qui-Gon came round twice in one day. He had already done enough in that regard. Raising the boy's hopes.

Why in all the Force had he promised to return?

Morning would be soon enough, he decided. And after that? Qui-Gon shrugged the idea away. He had never been one to look restlessly to the future. His was the Here and Now. The future was unpredictable. Today had proved that much. One just had to take things as they came.

Returning to his quarters he pulled out his mission briefings and buried himself in their study. He would give the future no more thought tonight. He had had enough.

**(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)**

Morning came, too soon. After rising, Qui-Gon made his way down to the dining room. He was tense. And it was the thought of having to see the boy again that was making him so, but he could put it off no longer. He cursed Yoda and anything else that might have had a hand in the situation he was in now. The sense of sliding without control had not left him and he was beginning to feel the slightest bit angry with it.

He sat at his chosen table and ate slowly. He did not have to go, he told himself. He was under no obligation to the boy. But at the same time he knew that that was not fair. He had said he would see him again and he could not go back on his word. No matter how he raged against it, he would be no sort of Jedi if he did so.

One more visit. Then he would leave the boy for good. He would have no more part of this, fate or no.

Realising that he was putting off the inevitable, Qui-Gon finished the rest of his meal and headed for the door. As an after thought he paused at one of the serving stations. Selecting a sweet dessert to go, he tucked the package beneath his elbow and started on his journey to the sickbay.

Thanks to his explorations on the previous day, it did not take Qui-Gon long to reach his destination. The old Bothan healer looked up as he entered. The fur around his face rippled as he smiled. He did not question the Jedi Master for the reason behind his visit. "He's still in through there, Master Jedi," he called softly. "I'm sure he'll be glad to see you."

_Yes, __I__'__m __sure __he __will_, Qui-Gon thought as he nodded his thanks to the venerable medic, but it wasn't until he entered the room that he realised just how big a mistake he had actually made.

The boy was still sleeping. One arm dangled from the covers, the other cast carelessly across his young face. The mouth hung open slightly, emitting a soft snore every now and again.

The entire scene was filled with innocence and peace, but it hit Qui-Gon like a kick in the guts. He was catapulted screaming back down years long past and forever lost. How many times had he stood watch over another boy just like this. Qui-Gon's throat closed as old pain seared through his chest. He could not bear this reminder. He turned, blocking the sight of the sleeping child from his stinging eyes, fully intent on leaving and never looking back.

"Don't go," the boy's sleepy voice pulled him up shaking in the doorway. "I'm awake now."

Qui-Gon stood as a statue in the doorway. His hands clenched and unclenched within the folds of his dark robe. He knew he was trembling faintly.

"Master Qui-Gon?"

He could not turn round. Not yet. Drawing great gulps of air, he tried to loosen grief's iron grip on his throat whilst valiantly fighting too clear his blurry vision. He had thought he had made himself immune to such lapses in control, but because of recent events, buried memories had suddenly erupted to hit him broadside.

Drawing on the Force's serenity, he managed to regain enough of a mask to allow himself to turn round and face the boy. The one who was doing all this to him. Visibly composed, though still raging on the inside, Qui-Gon moved towards the bedside and sat down. Fixing his face in set lines, he did not return the boy's smile of greeting.

He made no attempt to speak either. He would make sure the boy no longer wanted his company.

Kenobi shifted uncomfortably through the stilted silence. When it became obvious that Qui-Gon was not going to be the one to break the silence, he announced with forced cheeriness. "Food's terrible in here, you know."

Qui-Gon stared at the boy. Then the corner of his mouth twitched and he felt something inside him crack and break down all in one instant, shattering the memories. His ire drained away as quickly as it had come. Sighing in defeat he reached under his elbow and withdrew the now squashy package he had brought from the dining hall.

His voice was still traitorously rough as he spoke. "Here," he held the gift out to the boy. "I thought you might enjoy this."

Obi-Wan accepted the offering eagerly. He did not seem to care about the dessert's now less than presentable appearance, his eyes held only heartfelt gratitude to Qui-Gon. "How did you guess?" he asked, before descending ravenously on the creamy pastry. He looked much stronger than he had yesterday. The Master guessed it wouldn't be long until he was back on his feet.

Qui-Gon settled more comfortably in his seat, watching the boy eat. "Having been a resident of many such places around the galaxy, I could never fail to notice the one thing they all have in common: a dubious menu seems to be a must."

Kenobi laughed softly before saying, somewhat sheepishly. "I bet you didn't find yourself in an infirmary almost before you left the Temple for the first time, though."

"No," Qui-Gon admitted slowly. "I managed to get to the end of the first day, at least."

Obi-Wan looked up at him in surprise and Qui-Gon felt some of the boy's stifled embarrassment begin to lift. "Really?"

Qui-Gon merely nodded his confirmation. He doubted his own Master Dooku had ever forgiven him for taking that blaster shot. "The galaxy outside the Temple can be a volatile place for the unprepared, young one. And even for those who are at times. There is no shame in finding yourself in here. It was not your fault."

The boy nodded solemnly, toying with the last of his dessert. "I miss the Temple," he said softly. "They used to serve this dessert down in the main dining hall."

Qui-Gon closed his eyes in self recrimination. He had known that fact and he kicked himself for not being more sensitive. He had not meant to cause the boy any further sadness; he of all people should know how painful reminders could be.

"I miss my friends most of all." Kenobi blinked as if to dash away a prickling of sudden tears. "I never really allowed myself to face the reality that I would never see them again. All I could think about when I left was how my chance of being a Jedi Knight was gone. Now…" he glanced at the chair Qui-Gon occupied. "Bant always used to be there if I wound up in the Healers ward."

Qui-Gon's breath caught in his throat at the sadness and loss in Obi-Wan's eyes. He didn't know what words he could offer in this instance. Whatever he said would be hollow, meaningless and empty. Qui-Gon himself had been chosen by Dooku at the young age of ten. Almost as soon as he had been declared ready for Padawanship. He had never known the anguish of watching the years slide by until it was too late, knowing the goal you had worked your whole life towards was no longer obtainable. The home you'd had no longer wanted you.

For one of only a handful of times in his life, Qui-Gon felt awkward. "Tell me about your friends," he asked to ease the moment.

Obi-Wan paused for a long time. He seemed to struggle to find the words and hold his composure together. Qui-Gon waited patiently. Talking could help sometimes.

"Well first there is Reeft," the boy began slowly. "He's a Dreselian. I've known him since before I can remember but I suppose what drew me to Reeft was all his wrinkles. They used to make me laugh when we were small back in the crèche. And he could eat more than the rest of us combined. He would happily finish all of our meals if we let him." The boy smiled in memory. "Next would be Garen Muln. He was another human boy in my crèche clan. Garen never failed to make you smile no matter what had happened to you." Obi-Wan laughed suddenly. "I think he very nearly drove Master Yoda insane trying to come up with ways to get him to stay still long enough to meditate. He loves flying and hopes to become a renowned pilot someday. Garen and Reeft became inseparable as we grew up together. And last of all… there's Bant. She was my best friend. She's Mon Calamari and a whole two years younger than the rest of us, but somehow she managed to become the rock of our little group."

Qui-Gon recalled the small Calamarian girl celebrating Obi-Wan's victory two days ago. She must have been the Bant Obi-Wan was referring to.

"She always knew how to listen to your problems and was always ready with some sound advice. Being Mon Calamarian, of course, she was unparalleled at swimming. I used to envy her for that-" the boy's voice suddenly choked off. He lifted heavy eyes to Qui-Gon's and this time he could not mistake the glitter of tears. "Will I ever see them again?"

Qui-Gon shook his head. "I do not know. The future is not certain, one can never say what lies ahead for us. But what is certain are the memories you hold. You will never lose them. Now you must find a way to let go like a Jedi must and move on. You cannot attach yourself. You will make many more connections over the years. Each will be just as important to you."

Obi-Wan was still. "But I'll never be a Jedi." He looked directly at Qui-Gon and seemed to be holding his breath.

"No," Qui-Gon met his gaze levelly and Obi-Wan turned away defeated. "Your task has been set before you and you must accept it. Your work on Bandomeer will help feed an entire world and there is honour in that, too."

The boy nodded tightly but Qui-Gon could see that he was not satisfied. He was struggling to hide his bitter disappointment. This was a test. Would he step away from his hopes with a clear heart, or would he cling to his ambitions and dreams, becoming evermore embittered and angry as the years passed? Attachment did not always come in the form of people or places. It could come in the form of one's emotions too. A Jedi should cling to nothing. It was dangerous. A shadow of greed.

"Do you find it easy to let go?"

Qui-Gon went rigid at the unexpected question. "Excuse me?" His gaze became sharp with warning but Kenobi stared back at him and did not flinch.

"You tell me that it is the Jedi way to let go, to accept loss and move on," the boy pierced him with eyes too knowing for their own good. "You lost your apprentice. I am asking: do you find it easy to let go?"

Qui-Gon was knocked speechless. No one had- How dare-! He wanted to lash out. Strike the boy for his impertinence and for challenging what he could never imagine. "It is not your place to-!" he began but the sound of a door opening cut him off. A familiar pair of faceted eyes peered in.

Kenobi turned away from Qui-Gon, releasing himself from the burning gaze. "Well come in if you're going to!" the boy called, exasperated. "He's been doing this all morning," he murmured.

Qui-Gon ignored the comment, fighting the terrible anger brought about by the boy's prying. The distraction was a blessing. He did not know if he could have controlled himself had the confrontation continued. He got up and moved a few paces from the med bed. He needed to get away. Far away.

The door opened and a young Arconan lad shuffled reluctantly into the room, his angular face was set in nervous lines as he came under their attention. He seemed to sense the cutting atmosphere in the room. "We did not mean to disturb-"

"It's all right," Obi-Wan sighed waving him in.

Encouraged, the Arconan moved closer to them, though more towards Obi-Wan than Qui-Gon. "Clat'Ha wanted us to meet her here. We heard that a young boy faced Jemba the Hutt in battle and lived to tell the tale. We wished to meet the great warrior who did this." His luminous green eyes shifted from one Jedi to the other.

Detachedly, Qui-Gon watched Obi-Wan's gaze flicker over the Arconan boy's shoulder. He was obviously searching for the 'we' the other boy referred to before remembering that Arconans lived in large colonies all their lives. They were partially hive minded. As a result individuals rarely referred to themselves as 'I' or 'me'. The boy's gaze returned to his misguided visitor. "Well it seems you've found him," he said. "But I think your facts are a little confused. There was no great battle, I simply lost my way and was found by Jemba, who kindly picked me up and strangled me until I passed out," he winced as he attempted to pull himself more upright.

"That you survived at all is an achievement," Qui-Gon put in stiffly.

"Only because Clat'Ha found me in time," Obi-Wan countered, settling himself carefully against his pillows.

"But you survived," the Arconan was not to be put off. "The Hutts inspire great terror in us. Your victory gives us hope. You _are_a hero."

At a loss Obi-Wan turned a helpless gaze upon Qui-Gon. But the Jedi Master did not respond, he was still wrestling with the boy's unforgiving question. It lodged in him like a knife, twisting.

The boy turned away again. Seeming to realise that he wasn't going to change the Arconan's mind, Obi-Wan beckoned him over. "Well, sit down and tell me your name. I'll be needing all the friends I can get out here, it seems."

The other boy grinned and sat in Qui-Gon's vacated chair.

His name was Si Treemba. Qui-Gon listened silently as the two boys talked, watching Obi-Wan as he patiently answered Si Treemba's questions and asked a few of his own. He appeared to have forgotten the earlier upset. Pretty soon they were getting on like a Temple on fire. Kenobi was one to make friends easily. He was already well on his way to making those new connections Qui-Gon had spoken of.

Good. The sooner he moved on the better it was for everyone.

He was just contemplating making an exit when the door opened again. Clat'Ha strode in with an impatient expression. She glanced at Qui-Gon. "Good, you're here. I was going to call you."

Si Treemba scrambled to his feet. "We-" But Clat'Ha kept her attention on Qui-Gon.

"We have a problem," her voice was crisp. "Someone has been tampering with our equipment. Young Si Treemba here discovered the damage on a routine inspection. We have three Arconan tunnelling machines in stock, and all three have been sabotaged."

"How so?" Qui-Gon asked, forcing his troubles aside and focusing on the new matter at hand.

Si Treemba stepped forward. "The thermocoms have been removed and the coring couplers have been rigged so they will not shut down once they have been engaged."

"Thermocoms?" Obi-Wan asked from the bed.

Qui-Gon glanced at the boy impatiently. This was nothing to do with him. Couldn't Clat'Ha have taken this meeting to a more appropriate venue? "The Arconan tunnellers are vehicles that drill through solid rock. The friction that this causes is astronomical. The thermocoms are an essential part of the cooling system. Without them the cooling units are useless and the vehicle would start to get extremely hot extremely quickly. And with the coring couplers offline the driver of the tunnellers would not be able to stop the vehicle. The machine would keep digging until it melted from the heat, killing everyone on board."

Obi-Wan visibly shuddered.

"Exactly," Clat'Ha said grimly. "And I think we all know who is responsible."

Qui-Gon was silent for a moment. "We must tread very carefully here. Accusations without evidence can cause more harm than good. It would be very hard to prove that Offworld had a hand in this."

"Why?" Obi-Wan challenged suddenly. "We could easily prove it if we found the thermocoms in Offworld's possession."

Qui-Gon gave the boy a flat stare. "And how would you suggest we do that?"

"We could slip over to their side of the ship and search for them," the boy answered eagerly, heedless of Qui-Gon's flaring temper. "They would never have to know. If the thermocoms were found then we would have the proof we need to bring Jemba to justice. He shouldn't be allowed to exist after the things he's done."

Rash, thoughtless words, blinded by prejudice.

"Master Qui-Gon?" The boy was looking at him hopefully, waiting for permission to carry out his harebrained plan.

"No."

"But-"

"No." Qui-Gon had had enough. The slippery slope ended here. He was leaving now and not ever coming back, but not before he ordered the boy out of his business. "This is not your affair," he ground the words out. "If you go looking for those thermocoms, all you will find is trouble and this time nobody will help you. Stay out of it. And stay away from Offworld." _And __stay __away __from __me_, he added silently.

Delivering the sharp order to the stunned boy, Qui-Gon turned on his heel and left the room. Drawing his cloak tightly about himself he stalked off down the corridor, not caring where he ended up.

Five hours later. Qui-Gon jolted from an uneasy sleep. His eyes were barely open before he was on his feet, heart pounding in his ears. On pure reflex he cast about, searching for signs of the danger that would explain his reaction. There were none. His small quarters were empty. All around him the _Monument_ continued its familiar hum as it pondered through space. Nevertheless something somewhere was wrong and all of Qui-Gon's senses were screaming at him to act.

What?

Then it hit him. The boy.

Obi-Wan was in trouble.

Qui-Gon ground his teeth together and collapsed back to his pallet, burying his face under his arm. This couldn't be happening to him. He should not be able to know what was happening to the boy. But there it was. The thing he had feared most, but had suspected all along.

A bond.

Despite his best efforts. It had formed. Qui-Gon groaned. Getting up he leaned against his small sink, grateful for the cool mirror against his warm forehead. Ignoring the continued spikes of anxiety in his mind, he concentrated on the currents of the Living Force. Only the Force could answer all the impossible questions that stirred restlessly inside him, but his efforts to seek its wisdom were met with the same response he'd received since boarding the Monument.

Silence.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he whispered. His mental shields were wearing dangerously thin under the strain of trying to control so many things that were beyond his control. _Why? __Why __me... why__now?_ He did not want this. But it seemed that the Force had other ideas. He could not deny that he had felt a strange 'pull' towards Kenobi since that very first day in the training room. And that connection had only grown stronger as he had sat watchful at the injured boy's bedside. Until the disastrous end of his last visit and the issue of the thermocoms had-

_The __thermocoms_. Qui-Gon shook himself out of his reverie. He knew what was wrong now. He had been disobeyed. The boy had ignored him and gone off to Offworld's side of the ship in hopes of finding the stolen equipment. Force knew what trouble he had gotten himself into or what damage he was doing to Qui-Gon's delicate negotiations before they had even started. Anger seethed within him.

Shutting out the distressed, unwanted presence in the corner of his mind, Qui-Gon returned to his sleep pallet. If the boy had gotten himself into trouble then he would just have to get himself out. Qui-Gon had promised him he would have no help this time.

He was not Qui-Gon's responsibility.

Even so, it was a long time before the Jedi Master was able to will himself back to sleep.

Qui-Gon was in the ship's lounge with Clat'Ha when the boy reappeared, dusty and dishevelled from his little misadventure. Si Treemba trailed in his footsteps.

Upon seeing him, Qui-Gon had to fight a resurgence of hot irritation. The boy came up and faced him. He would take responsibility for his actions at least. "Well? Did you find anything?" Qui-Gon asked brusquely.

"No." The boy flushed. "Si Treemba got captured before we could complete the search."

The young Arconan shifted uncomfortably. Sensing the brewing trouble, he attempted to come to Kenobi's aid. "Obi-Wan saved us. We were chained to the floor and he faced up to Grelb the Hutt all by himself and-"

"A man who puts himself in danger deserves to face it alone," Qui-Gon interrupted, angered further by the knowledge that the boy had taken others into peril with him.

Now he turned to the issue that stung the most. "You deliberately disobeyed me," he said, struggling to keep an even tone. This betrayal of trust, however minor, was striking too deeply into Qui-Gon's still healing wounds, he felt like he could break apart at any minute. Obi-Wan, however, met his cold gaze defiantly. He steadied himself briefly as the Monument dropped out of hyperspace, preparing to make a change in course.

"With respect, Master Jinn, I am not your Padawan. I am not bound to obey you. The thermocoms-"

"The thermocoms were found over two hours ago," Clat'Ha interjected quietly. Obi-Wan's mouth snapped closed.

Qui-Gon glared down at the boy. "Your meddling has only made a bad situation worse."

"Worse?" The boy frowned. "How-"

"Yes," Qui-Gon interrupted. "Did you think that the culprits would be stupid enough to keep the evidence? Did you even think at all? How can I gain Offworld's trust when you're off creeping around their territory like a thief trying to frame them! How can-"

The rest of Qui-Gon's rising tirade was cut short by a deafening blast. His feet were nearly knocked from beneath him as the whole ship lurched violently. The lights flickered as the sound of blaster cannons filled the air. The Monument shuddered again and again in time to the terrible tune. It took only a moment for Qui-Gon to realise what was happening.

"Pirates," he stated simply.

He rushed to the largest transparisteel window and peered out into space. His heart sank as he beheld the sight painted starkly against the back drop of millions of glittering stars. Six heavily armed freighters were surrounding the _Monument_, the swift, manoeuvrable kind favoured by Togorians. The fierce black hulls bristled with blaster cannons, over powering the feeble defence the old transport was putting up. Like sand jackals they had lain along the space lane, waiting for someone to drop out of hyperspace and fall into their trap. Today was their lucky day. Bad news for the souls aboard the _Monument_.

Qui-Gon turned swiftly from the porthole. "We need to get to the bridge! I need to speak with the pilot." They needed to run, not stand and fight. The Monument would be vaporised before anyone could think. Getting back into hyperspace was their only hope. That was if it wasn't already too late.

The others staggered to their feet and followed him out of the door. They had little time and Qui-Gon's fears were confirmed when a direct hit silenced the _Monument_'s guns, leaving them completely defenceless. Qui-Gon and the others halted, looking anxiously at the metal walls, as if at any moment they may cave under the blistering attack. The Monument could not possibly last much longer. Why wasn't the pilot getting them back into hyperspace? Another blast then… nothing.

Silence.

Somehow that was worse than the deafening pound of battle. Breathless, they waited for what would happen next. Seconds passed, then came the sound that they had all been dreading. The sound of kissing metal and the scrape of docking clamps.

"They're going to board," said Qui-Gon tersely. Very soon any number of the Togorian pirates would be pouring onto the transport.

Huge feline like aliens. Armoured and deadly. Qui-Gon summed up the situation and it was bleak. A handful of crew and one Jedi were not going to be enough to repel a full scale pirate attack and protect the passengers. And the chances of another ship passing by to help was less than negligible. But Qui-Gon would not see them lost from lack of trying. He was under no illusions as to what would happen here. The Monument contained nothing of any real value. Nothing to make the attack worth the effort. The pirates would make it up somehow. If they were captured then it would mean a fate worse than death in the slave pens for any survivors. Slavery was still a very lucrative business outside of the Republic's boundaries. Crews taken in these attacks were considered fair game.

Not this time, Qui-Gon thought grimly.

Swiftly the Jedi Master turned to Clat'Ha. "You and I will try to head them off before they can spread and capture the ship."

The young woman looked pale but nodded tightly, gripping at the blaster gun strapped to her hip.

"And me," Obi-Wan stepped forward. "I'm coming too."

"No," said Qui-Gon, already turning away. "You have to get to the bridge and tell them to pilot us out of here, now!"

Obstinate, the boy planted his feet. "I won't leave! You need me-"

"No! I don't!" Qui-Gon rounded on Obi-Wan so fast that the boy actually back pedalled. All Qui-Gon could see in that moment was Xanatos. His emotions roared in his ears hot and searing until, like a fiery tempest, they burnt themselves out, leaving behind only a barren, unfeeling landscape in their place. "I do not need you, Obi-Wan. You are not my Padawan. I can watch my own back as I have done many times. Now you will see to your task while I see to mine!" He watched detachedly as Obi-Wan paled as if slapped. A dozen pained emotions pinched his young face before his expression closed completely, hardening against the verbal blow and the Master standing before him.

"As you wish, Master Jinn," he said coolly, mental shields impenetrable. He bowed stiffly before wheeling away, striding swiftly towards the bridge, Si Treemba trotting along in his wake.

Qui-Gon sighed and ignoring Clat'Ha's stunned expression started off down the corridor. Distantly he could already hear the sound of fighting. It appeared that the Offworld workers were putting up some resistance. Good. If they could defend themselves then that left Qui-Gon free to protect the non-violent Arconans. Swiftly he veered off towards the docking bay. He hoped that being unexpectedly faced with a Jedi Knight would encourage the pirates to cut their losses. His skills were worth at least ten of them and although he could be walking into a nest of hundreds, they weren't to know that he was alone.

Smoke billowed up the corridor as Qui-Gon and Clat'Ha neared the docking bay, blinding them. Qui-Gon stifled the urge to cough. Hostile minds crowded up ahead but despite his extra awareness Qui-Gon was almost unprepared when a huge Togorian captain materialised out of the haze right in front of him.

Qui-Gon halted, gaze travelling up to meet the glowing yellow eyes of the pirate. He stood a full meter taller than Qui-Gon and probably came in at four times the weight. His fangs gleamed as the lips peeled back in primal delight at the sight of the Jedi. Qui-Gon's hopes to avoid conflict through intimidation evaporated into the mists. The Jedis' reputation as warriors was fearsome and widespread but there were always those arrogant enough or with sufficient numbers willing to try their luck.

"Welcome to your last sight, Jedi," the creature snarled in a thickly accented voice. The beast emphasised his words by raising a great vibroaxe. The razor edge hissed and spit on the air with lethal energy. The left claw hefted an energy shield. "I've hunted your kind before and I will wear your scalp on my belt tonight."

Tearing his gaze away from the menacing sight, Qui-Gon realised that the other pirates were heading back to their ship, probably to get reinforcements. He indicated this to Clat'Ha with his eyes. The young woman understood and raced off. He hoped she would be able to find some backup.

As soon as she was safely away Qui-Gon moved to meet the advancing Togorian captain. "I have no doubt that you have killed before," he said. He unclipped his lightsaber from his belt and raised the hilt high. The deadly green laser blade shot forth, humming a full meter on the smoky air. "But you shall find no victory today."

The Togorian's catlike ears swept back against his skull. "We shall see," he snarled. With cold, feline grace he began to circle Qui-Gon, keeping just outside of the glowing lightsaber's range. Qui-Gon moved with him, waiting. At his centre he grew still. He felt no fear, only readiness. The Force would decide the outcome and he would accept it. Silently he watched his enemy, assessing speed and balance. The pirate would be fast and he would be sure. He handled the axe as if it were an extension of his mighty arms. But Qui-Gon still doubted the pirate would be much of a match for him. Carefully he planned his defence. He would aim to destroy his enemy's weapon, leaving the captain at his mercy. He might be able to force a surrender.

The moments stretched without change. The yellow eyes never left the Jedi Master. Qui-Gon guessed the Togorian was trying to psyche him out, make him tense with anticipation, catch him off balance. Qui-Gon tightened the grip on his weapon minutely and narrowed his eyes. It might have worked against a lesser opponent, being faced with a full nine feet of solid muscle, but he was Jedi. He had faced too many battles where the odds seemed stacked against him to be intimidated by this single bandit. The Togorian was wasting his energy.

A short guttural roar was Qui-Gon's only warning as the pirate broke the stand off and came at him. The axe blade cut the air, aiming to separate the Jedi's head from his shoulders with deadly precision.

Without seeming to move, Qui-Gon met him. The blades tangled heavily in an angry shower of sparks. The pirate's strength was astronomical and Qui-Gon felt the shock of the blow shiver up his arms. With skill born of a lifetime's experience, Qui-Gon let himself be as water, absorbing the impact, flowing through and twisting his wrists so that the axe blade was turned aside. It had not even come near.

The pirate's teeth bared, yellow and sharp. He struck out again and again, but Qui-Gon gave him no opportunity. He did not even have to move his feet to ward off the monster. Let him waste his energy with swinging attacks. Qui-Gon could wait for hours if he had to.

Finally his patience paid off. The Togorian made a particularly savage cut, putting all his considerable force behind it, hoping to bull through Qui-Gon's defence. This time Qui-Gon pivoted to the side. The terrific swipe met thin air and the mighty alien was thrown completely off balance. Seizing an opportunity, Qui-Gon made his first offensive cut of the fight. Swiftly reversing his move he whipped a strike at the steel haft of the axe, seeking to reduce it to molten pieces and leave the pirate defenceless. This confrontation, such as it was, was at an end.

The sabre connected. And bounced off without leaving a mark. The faint blue glow of an energy field shimmered along the axe's length. The whole weapon was shielded! Qui-Gon allowed himself a second of dismay as his plan backfired spectacularly. The lightsaber could not cut the axe apart.

The pirate regained his balance quickly and grinned at him, swinging the unharmed axe tauntingly. "Not as easy as you thought, eh, Jedi?" he laughed. "I may even decide to keep you alive. You'd fetch a handsome price at the slave markets. Not one of your kind ever been seen there before."

Qui-Gon ignored the taunt, using the time to regroup and let go his surprise. This pirate was smarter than he seemed. He was prepared. It may not have been an idle brag that he had met Jedi before. He may even have killed one had the situation been favourable. A younger Knight may have been easier to goad into making a mistake or be caught unawares. But Qui-Gon was a Master and, as strong as this monster was, he had an ally stronger still.

Breathing deep, Qui-Gon blocked out the pirate's savage delight and cruel hatred, letting the soothing energy of the Force flow in and fill the spaces. It did not come as readily as it once had in years past, but it answered his call. Now Qui-Gon cast his awareness outwards, reaching for his enemy. The pirate may be completely blind to the Force's presence but he was as much a part of it as every other living organism in this galaxy and no less connected to the Jedi. Qui-Gon could feel the Togorian's hatred, his bloodlust, the savage instincts of his race barely restrained. He could feel the coil and release of powerful muscles.

Qui-Gon knew exactly where the pirate would move next and when.

Now he moved. His lightsaber flashed out and the pirate barely brought his axe around in time to block. He could not even blink before the Jedi was away again. Qui-Gon needed to get the axe away from him, and he would. His lightsaber moved unstoppably against the pirate, manoeuvring him where he wished. Several times he could have felled the giant, but that was not the result he wanted. He needed surrender. Quickly. The others would be back within minutes. He knew then he would be in trouble.

Yellow eyes flashed fury above him, uncertainty creeping into their depths. The Togorian slashed again and again at the Jedi Master but to no avail and within moments Qui-Gon had his opportunity. Releasing his lightsaber with one hand he thrust his palm out and blasted the pirate captain off his feet with a wave of the Force. The massive alien was picked up and thrown across the corridor like a twig before the storm. The far wall shuddered as the heavy body impacted and fell to the floor. The pirate lay dazed.

Careful to keep his lightsaber activated, Qui-Gon stepped towards his felled enemy, the humming tip pointed towards the thickly furred throat.

The ship's engines chose that moment to engage. The floor lurched violently beneath Qui-Gon's feet, shooting forward and bucking. Qui-Gon stumbled and fell back barely catching himself.

With a roar of triumph, the Togorian leapt from the floor, lashing out at the suddenly off balance Jedi. Qui-Gon felt a flash of panic. He already knew he would be too late to prevent what was to happen. His Jedi reflexes allowed him to avoid the full impact but the deadly axe blade found its mark. It bit deep into his right shoulder and scraped across his back. His lightsaber flew from his suddenly lax grip and landed somewhere out of sight as Qui-Gon was driven to the ground.

_Oh,__Force_. The agony was blinding. The air left his lungs. He tried to lift his right arm but it refused to comply with his demands. Fate had suddenly conspired against him. But before he could even think of what he could do next, the screech of tearing metal split the air.

The seals to the hold strained and cracked, as if a massive force was trying to pull the ship both directions at once.

Someone was attempting to fly the Monument with the pirate ships still anchored to the hull! The transport would be torn to pieces.

The seals finally ripped apart, unable to hold any longer. Wind howled down the passages as the vacuum of space sucked the atmosphere screaming from the ship. Debris ripped down the hall, battering Qui-Gon and his towering antagonist. The pirate vessels fell away, heavily damaged and leaking their own atmosphere. Eyes narrowed to slits, the pirate brought his shield up to defend himself against the barrage of debris.

Thinking quickly Qui-Gon used the wind to his advantage. He let it pull him closer to the pirate. If he died he would at least take this monster with him! Using the Force he found his fallen weapon and called it to his left hand. Activating the blade he aimed a swift blow to the pirate's unprotected feet. But the beast saw it coming and jumped up out of the way. Maliciously he landed back down on Qui-Gon's arm, ripping a cry from his lips. Bones protested and pirate roared in triumph. His thirsting eyes glinted bloodlust as he shouted over the tearing wind. "You proved quite a challenge, Jedi! I'll enjoy killing you."

Qui-Gon could barely breathe through his pain and lack of air, much less give a response. The Togorian raised his axe for the killing blow and Qui-Gon watched the deadly blade fall.

Blind instinct kicked in and he twisted, calling the Force to him almost without conscious thought. Quick as a sand panther Qui-Gon swung his legs up, striking the giant's broad back with his feet, putting the power of the Force behind the blow. The pirate toppled. Snarling the creature swirled for the Jedi again-only to find the floor empty and his face full of blazing green laser.

Death was instant. The dark head disappeared and the rest of the immense body was grabbed by the eager wind and dragged out into cold space.

Qui-Gon deactivated his lightsaber and fell to his knees, watching blearily as his enemy and droplets of his own blood were swept into space. Too much of the latter. He would soon be unconscious. But he could not let go just yet. Down the hall there was an emergency seal that should have closed automatically when the air pressure dropped, but on this ship it was no surprise that it hadn't worked. Bleeding heavily and gasping for air, Qui-Gon summoned the last of his strength. Using the Force, he shifted the blocking debris and pushed the door closed with invisible hands. The wind stopped screaming in an instant and everything dropped eerily silent. Even the sounds of distant fighting had stopped. Whether that was because Offworld was victorious or because the invaders had been sucked back out into space with their ships, Qui-Gon had not the energy to guess. One thought alone pressed him now. He had to get to the bridge. Somehow.

Leaning on the wall for support and clutching his useless arm to his chest the Jedi Master pushed himself up and began to inch forward towards the impossibly distant destination. The pirates on the hostile ships may yet resume the attack from space.

Determinedly he pushed himself along, stubbornly ignoring the fact that his legs seemed to be getting heavier with every step. But in the end his body betrayed him. He had travelled no further than a hundred meters when the world tilted and Qui-Gon slumped on the ground, his life's blood staining the carpet beneath him. He could not rise again. His wounds were too great.

For the first time in a long time Qui-Gon knew that he needed help. But none was forth coming. He was alone.

How fitting.

Gradually he felt the air pressure rise as force-fields sealed the tears all over the ship. Breathing became blessedly easier. But most importantly of all, no further sign or sound of attack could be detected. The pirates had broken off their attack. By very nearly killing them all in a rash act, Kenobi had done it. He was under no illusions as to who had made the crazy manoeuvre. He had sent the boy to fly a huge transport through a battle field and he had done it.

In his helplessness, Qui-Gon felt a pang of remorse at the harsh memory of their parting. The raw anger had left him and he knew should have had more patience. True, the young man had disobeyed him, had pushed Qui-Gon's strained patience to the limits… but something deep down reminded him that Kenobi was just a boy, eager to set the world to rights. Same as he had been at that age. But after Xanatos Qui-Gon had had no cushion with which to pad the blows and he had shattered.

He regretted it now. He wished he could have lived long enough to say he was sorry. Time passed slowly and Qui-Gon's world faded until it hung solely between one shallow breath and the next. Deep down he began to prepare himself for the inevitable. His final journey into the eternal embrace of the Force. He could already feel its peaceful shores calling for him…

He was almost beyond hearing when the dim sound of a door swishing open pulled him back slightly.

"Master Jinn?" A hesitant voice.

"Obi-Wan." Barely a whisper.

Soft footsteps and suddenly the boy was kneeling beside him. Qui-Gon blinked up at the face. It was pinched with fatigue but lined with concern and… deep shock. The boy had never seen a Master like this, probably never even imagined it could be possible. Qui-Gon struggled to direct his attention. Time was short. "Need… need to stop the bleeding…" he rasped out.

The boy snapped out of his frozen state immediately. Standing, he removed his utility belt and pulled loose the obi from around his waist, bundling it together.

Something struck Qui-Gon as odd, then. He squinted at the boy's legs. Patches of bright crimson stood out in sharp contrast to the off-white material of his leggings. Blood? His blood? He must be lying in a pool of it. Ahhh, that would be the sickly sweet smell filling his nostrils. No wonder Obi-Wan looked so pale…

The boy disappeared behind him. There was a sharp intake of breath as he took in the extent of the injury, then Qui-Gon felt the soft cloth being pressed firmly to his back. He winced as it made contact with his torn flesh. He must have flinched, too, because Obi-Wan suddenly eased up on the pressure and gave a concerned, "Master Jinn?"

"Don't stop," Qui-Gon whispered, "Good…"

The pressure returned. "I need to contact the healers," Obi-Wan said, with the barest hint of a tremor in his young voice. "You need help." The boy pulled out his comlink with one hand, trying to raise the ship's medics. Qui-Gon heard a hiss of frustration when there was no answer. "Nobody's responding! I'll have to set out a distress beacon, but there's no telling if they'll come in time!"

Through his growing disconnection from the world, Qui-Gon could feel the boy's fear rising. "Calm, Obi-Wan," he murmured. "Trust the Force. T-they'll be here as soon as…as they can."

The boy nodded and drew a breath, releasing his fear into the Force as he'd been taught. Calmer now, he resumed the task of stopping Qui-Gon from bleeding to death. Distantly Qui-Gon was impressed.

Time continued to play itself out and Qui-Gon was just beginning to drift into back dark places when he heard Obi-Wan start to speak, drawing him away from the brink of unconsciousness. He spoke of everything and anything. All that had happened up on the bridge. The fact that he had found the captain and pilot unconscious. The desperate escape attempt that had saved them and the subsequent escape. He then turned to the survivors, their condition, the number of casualties.

"Obi-Wan…" Qui-Gon forced the sound out.

The boy halted his narration. "Yes, Master Jinn?"

"I… it… Cold."

Silence.

It stretched for a moment before he felt the boy's senses reach out to assess his condition. But he was inexperienced and the clumsy Force-touch was unrefined. The edges of the boy consciousness brushed against his mind and Qui-Gon realised with a cold shock that his mental guard was down. Before he could scramble a defence around the deepest parts of his soul, Obi-Wan's mind mingled with his.

Qui-Gon was stripped naked, all of his most private thoughts and emotions laid bare. He heard Obi-Wan give a little gasp. Quickly the boy recovered and withdrew his inadvertent probe, embarrassed. A long uncomfortable silence followed. Then, unexpectedly, Qui-Gon felt something within the boy soften. Obi-Wan shifted round to settle beside him. There was another hesitation, in which Obi-Wan seemed to struggle with deciding whether or not his help would be accepted. Then the boy's arms were winding tentatively about him, bringing their bodies close while still pressing the now blood soaked sash to Qui-Gon's back.

Qui-Gon stiffened, Obi-Wan would not meet his eyes but simply held him, sharing his much needed warmth with the Master's failing body. A part of Qui-Gon wanted to rebel, pull away from the contact. He didn't deserve this caring from the boy when he couldn't offer him anything in return. But some traitorous part of him had latched onto his presence and was clinging to it, the part that didn't want to be alone any longer.

But that part was still buried deep and could not yet escape. There was too much hurt blocking the way. He only hoped that Obi-Wan could now understand his turmoil and not grow to resent him for his stubborn heart.

But that was a worry for a later time. In this moment the boy's presence was a warm blanket and a blessing. A balm his soul had not known in a long time. Very slowly Qui-Gon laid his uninjured hand upon Obi-Wan's shoulder and let his weary eyes drift closed.

**(*)*(*)*(*)**

_Just hold me close inside your arms tonight,_

_Don't be too hard on my emotions_

_Cause I need time._

_My heart is numb, has no feeling._

_So while I'm still healing,_

_Just try and have a little patience._


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

He woke slowly. Not knowing for a moment when or where he was. Dead or alive.

The only thing he was aware of, funnily enough, was an absence. Pain's absence. The blinding white agony that had been there was gone. Dead then.

The next thing was that he was lying on something soft and could hear a faint beeping. That was slightly more unusual and made him reassess that first conclusion.

He decided then that it was probably best to look round. Peeling back sandpaper eyelids, Qui-Gon blinked away the cloudy film over his eyes and came face to face with a familiar ceiling.

The med bay's ceiling. A soft pillow supported his head.

Alive then. They had made it.

Bringing himself to full consciousness, Qui-Gon very gently tested his right arm and found it willing to obey his demands. Bringing his hand up, he rubbed his forehead, trying to deduce how much time had passed. He gave up rather quickly when his brain protested by pounding loudly against his skull.

Sighing he dropped his hand back to his side. The answer's would come in—

Qui-Gon jolted as his fingers brushed against a wealth of soft hair. His eyes flew down the length of the blankets. Shock rippled through him when he saw that Obi-Wan was seated close beside him, he had pitched forward and his was head resting peacefully on the bed, fast asleep.

Qui-Gon blinked, more than a little disconcerted. He was a man who prided himself on being aware of every intrusion the second he woke. And yet here was the boy, sleeping right beside his elbow and he had not even known he was there until he'd dropped a hand on him.

_That__'__s __because __he__'__s __not __an __intrusion_, a voice deep within whispered. _He__'__s_ meant _to __be __there_.

A riot of conflicting emotions rushed through Qui-Gon at the disturbing thought. Fear, denial. Confusion. For a while he was at a loss.

The only thing he knew was that his desire to keep the boy far away was gone. And that knowledge shocked him most of all.

Of its own accord his hand lifted to brush gently at the sleeping cheek.

He snatched it away quickly when the door to his room swished open. Clat'Ha strode in, a grin lighting her face when she saw him attempt to sit up.

"So you're awake," she said as she came to his bedside. "You had us worried for a while there."

Qui-Gon nodded, not relishing the weakness he felt. He was glad to see that the fiery young woman was alive and well. Settling back against his pillows, he gritted his teeth as the movement pulled at the bandages protecting his healing shoulder. He could smell the familiar scent of bacta healing gel.

The grimace was not lost on Clat'Ha whose expression became concerned. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore," Qui-Gon replied. "How long have I been unconscious?"

"It's hard to say," the woman said, "you were already unconscious when the medics finally found you down by the air lock. But you've been in the sick bay for about ten hours now. It was touch and go there for a while. I'm glad to see you back with us."

Qui-Gon nodded his thanks for her concern. Ten hours…

He glanced down at the sleeping Obi-Wan again, noticing for the first time the lines of exhaustion etched into his young face.

Clat'Ha followed his gaze and her expression softened. "He hasn't left your side the whole time. After he piloted us to safety he came down here to the sickbay offering his help. He was barely standing on his own feet by that time but once he discovered that you hadn't shown up among the survivors, he would not rest until he'd found you. I don't think you'd be sitting there now if it wasn't for him, Qui-Gon. You're very lucky to have such a companion."

Qui-Gon smiled humourlessly. Lucky. "I don't deserve his loyalty."

"No, you don't," Clat'Ha said bluntly, sweeping her red hair back from her brow and looking meaningfully into Qui-Gon's eyes. "Not after the way you spoke to him before the battle."

Qui-Gon gave her a pained look, not needing the reminder. But Clat'Ha's accusing stare didn't relent.

"Now, I don't know what it is you've got against the lad," she continued steadily. "And quite frankly it is none of my business, but he deserves to be treated better than that, Qui-Gon. He cares for you. Though the reason is lost on me. He really does."

Qui-Gon's gaze rested on the sleeping boy. "I know," he whispered.

The quiet confession seemed to please Clat'Ha. "Good, at least you have some sense," she smiled. "Well now that I've seen you're alright, I need to return to my workers, I fully expect Jemba to start making trouble after all this confusion." The young woman snorted and turned for the door. She cast a last glance at Obi-Wan. "I expect he'll be waking up soon. Please, try to be more gentle with him." With that she disappeared.

Qui-Gon was left alone as silence descended once more, but the words of the conversation lingered long after Clat'Ha's fiery presence had faded from the room.

_He cares for you…_

_I know._

And he did. Though how he had earned such a gift he could not guess.

Carefully he reached out and caressed the boy's hair, carding his fingers wonderingly through the short auburn locks. He did not intend to wake him but, true to Clat'Ha's prediction, Obi-Wan stirred beneath the contact, murmuring something unintelligible in his sleep before slowly pulling himself from the much needed rest. He was a light sleeper.

"Qui-Gon?"

Qui-Gon kept his hand on the boy's hair, grounding him to the moment. "I'm here."

The boy's blue-green eyes blinked open. He took a moment to make sense of the angle from which he was seeing then sat blot upright in his chair, clearly embarrassed at having fallen asleep half sprawled across Qui-Gon's bed. "I'm sorry, Master Jinn," he said hastily.

"It's alright, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, cringing at the conscious return to his formal title. "You were exhausted. I'm sorry to have woken you." And he was, it hadn't yet been two days since the boy had been recovering from a brutal attack. He needed to rest.

Obi-Wan shook his head slightly, waving off the apology. "I'm fine."

Silence. Uncomfortable.

Obi-Wan fiddled for a moment with his fingers before venturing, "How's your shoulder?"

Qui-Gon tested it. "Acceptable. I'll have to build it up gradually, but don't think there will be any lasting damage." He attempted a smile but Obi-Wan did not return it. Instead the young head bowed hiding suddenly haunted eyes.

Qui-Gon frowned. "What's wrong?"

Obi-Wan swallowed visibly and there was a long pause before: "The medics didn't think you would survive." This was murmured so quietly that Qui-Gon had to strain to hear. "The blood loss was so great… Then they told me you were also suffering from oxygen deprivation." The boy's eye's flew up to meet his and Qui-Gon was shocked to see them filled with guilt and unshed tears. "It's my fault, Master," he said. "I engaged the ship's engines when the pirates were still docked. I nearly pulled the ship apart. It was stupid and reckless, and-"

Qui-Gon held up a hand putting a stop to the self recrimination. "And you saved us all, Obi-Wan," he said. "We escaped. Did we not?"

"But I nearly killed you."

The underlying tremble in those words was somehow touching. Qui-Gon gave a wan smile.

"Obi-Wan," he called the boy's attention back to him gently. "If you hadn't pulled the ship away when you did a part of me would very likely be decorating a pirate's belt right now. Do not focus too much on what might have been. I am alive and my scalp, thanks to you, is still in it's preferred place."

That finally twitched a smile out of the boy and he nodded solemnly before reaching up to rub at tired eyes. It was then Qui-Gon noticed that his hands were heavily bandaged. He frowned. "What happened to your hands?"

"Oh," Obi-Wan looked at them as if only just noticing himself. "The bridge was on fire when Si Treemba and I got there. I burnt my hands trying to open the doors." The boy lowered them back to his lap. "The bacta's almost healed them now. The medics tried to get me to go back to my quarters-threatened me, in fact-but I couldn't…" he trailed off, clearly unsure if admitting his need to stay by Qui-Gon's side would be met with more hard feelings.

Qui-Gon sighed and clasped the boy's shoulder briefly to reassure him. He drew a deep breath. "Obi-Wan, I am sorry for how I spoke to you before. It was wrong of me and you did not deserve it. I was taking out on you something that was never your fault and-"

He stopped as Obi-Wan's eyes met his. That blue-green gaze was so full of understanding and forgiveness that Qui-Gon let the rest of his words fall silent on his lips. The boy had seen into his mind now. He knew.

"Xanatos hurt you a lot didn't he?"

Qui-Gon swallowed, "Yes."

Obi-Wan looked at him. "I would never hurt you like that."

Qui-Gon felt his heart contract and he closed his eyes against the painfully sincere gaze. He wanted so much to believe in that moment. He shook his head slightly.

When he reopened his eyes he saw that Obi-Wan was still studying him, but hurt now floated beneath the surface of his gaze. The boy was taking Qui-Gon's silence as a further rejection.

Something burned in Qui-Gon's chest where his heart should have been. Raging at his inability to move on. But he had no idea where to start. The pain would not leave. He was lost.

To his relief the heavy silence was broken by the bleeping of Obi-Wan's comlink. The boy flinched slightly at the unexpected intrusion before picking it up. He flipped a switch so that Qui-Gon could also hear what was said. He appreciated the gesture.

"Obi-Wan?" Clat'Ha's voice filled the room.

"Here," Obi-Wan answered.

"Obi-Wan we need you up on the bridge right away," The young woman's voice was fairly vibrating with renewed urgency. "Si Treemba is up there. He says that part of the hull has failed and we're leaking atmosphere. The pilot and the co-pilot are still unconscious in the sick bay. He doesn't know what to do." The young woman's voice was tense.

Qui-Gon pulled the comlink to him. "Obi-Wan will be there shortly, Clat'Ha," he spoke reassuringly. "Don't panic. Try to keep everyone calm."

The steadiness of his voice seemed to ease her a bit, though her own was still tight when she answered, "Will do," and cut off the connection.

Qui-Gon turned to Obi-Wan. "You need to go up there and see what you can do," he said. "If you can't repair the damage then you'll have to find us a suitable place on which to land. You're the only one who can pilot this ship now."

Obi-Wan looked stunned for a moment. A flash of uncertainty passed over his face as the weight of every life onboard ship was suddenly settled upon his young shoulders. But as Qui-Gon watched with growing admiration, the boy straightened in his seat and rose to the challenge. Lifting the responsibility placed upon him with quiet strength.

He met Qui-Gon's eyes firmly. "I won't let you down," he said.

Qui-Gon smiled slightly. "I know."

Obi-Wan flushed with pleasure at those simple words of trust. Quickly he hurried for the door.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon's voice called him round on the threshold.

The boy turned, hope flickering across his face.

"Thank you."

The look vanished, though the disappointment was quickly masked. "You're welcome, Master Jinn," the boy said and disappeared.

Qui-Gon sighed and watched him go. The look on the boy's face had not been lost on him. He was still searching for that which Qui-Gon could never give, even if he wished it.

_What__'__s __the __matter_, his inner voice taunted. _The __boy __saved __you. __You __should __be __able __to __trust __him._

_I __do! _Qui-Gon insisted. _I __trust __Obi-Wan __with __my __life._ Of that he had no doubt.

_So,_ the voice took on a mocking tone. _You __would __trust __him __with __your __life, __but __not __your __heart._

Qui-Gon fell silent, unable to contest the point. It was not Obi-Wan's fault. The problem was with him and the void living inside him. Qui-Gon lay back with a long sigh, valiantly trying to sort through all his confused and conflicting emotions as the sight of Obi-Wan's disappointed face lingered on in his mind's eye.

**(*)*(*)*(*)**

_Just have a little patience._

_I really wanna start over again,_

_I know you wanna be my salvation._

_The one that I can always depend._

_I'll try to be strong._

_Believe me, I'm trying to move on,_

_It's complicated but understand me._


	5. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4_

An hour had passed. The ship had fallen silent.

One more minute. Five more minutes. They slipped by gratingly.

_That__'__s __it! _He couldn't take this a moment longer. Qui-Gon rolled up and onto his feet, rising from the bed. Dizziness swamped him, but he swallowed the nausea. He had been ordered not to get up for at least another day, but he did not care what the medics said. He had regained enough strength to make himself useful. He couldn't stay languishing in here when there was a potential crisis unfolding. He was needed. Obi-Wan would do everything in his power to save the ship. But the boy was only twelve years of age, on his very first trip away from the Temple. It wasn't fair to leave him alone like this.

Shedding the med-gown he carefully redressed in his Jedi robes, blessedly cleaned and mended by the ship's domestic droids.

His shoulder was very stiff as he manoeuvred his arm into his tunic sleeves but he'd have to live with that. If the medics had done their job properly then the stitching and glue should hold. The miracle that was bacta had already gone a long way to healing it. Right now, that was good enough for him.

Donning his dark cloak, Qui-Gon headed for the door.

He paused on the threshold and peered around the reception area carefully. If he could make good his escape without being spotted by a medic then so much the better. They must have been occupied in the other treatment rooms because his way was clear. The Jedi whipped around the corner and out of the main doors unseen.

In the corridor Qui-Gon paused for a moment to catch his bearings, then turned left and headed for the bridge. No one was around to disturb him. The Arconans were no doubt still cowering nervously in their quarters. The fact that the ship had stopped had probably sent them deeper behind bolted doors. Qui-Gon just hoped that the reason for the ship's stillness was that Obi-Wan was working on repairs and was not due to something more sinister. Now would not be a good time to be dead in the water.

He increased his pace.

The bridge doors, when he reached them, were blackened from fire damage. He hated to think of what Obi-Wan had had to go through to get them open originally. A flick of the Force and he was through to the bridge.

Immediately his senses were battered by an assault of light and sound. For a moment Qui-Gon thought his vision had turned red. Warning signs flashed relentlessly from every console. Alarms wailed through the air, singing of their impending doom.

In the middle of all this chaos, Obi-Wan and Si Treemba sat pouring over navigation readouts. Desperation lined both their faces.

"Report," Qui-Gon ordered as he strode up behind them.

Obi-Wan spun round in his chair. "Master Jinn, you shouldn't-"

Qui-Gon raised his left hand quickly to silence him. "My place is here, young Obi-Wan," he said. "Not in the sickbay. It appears you could do with some help."

Several conflicting emotions flitted across the boy's face. Apprehension, concern, fear. Finally relief won out.

"What's our situation, Obi-Wan?" he asked again, laying his hand briefly on Obi-Wan's shoulder to steady him.

Obi-Wan spun back to the console before him. "The hull is beyond any repair we can make from space. Our only hope is to land the ship somewhere, but…" Obi-Wan gestured helplessly at the console, "the navicom is shot. It can't give us any reliable readouts for the immediate area. I can't find anything, not even a rock to land this thing on and now the life support is failing, too." The boy fell silent, the hopelessness of the situation threatening to crush him beneath its weight. Si Treemba buried his angular face in his hands.

Qui-Gon absorbed the information silently and stood back. The situation did indeed seem hopeless. But all was not lost yet. He gazed out of the viewscreen, out at the endless black stretching before them. Nothing met his piercing blue eyes. But that didn't matter for he remembered what Obi-Wan had forgotten in the heat of the moment.

"Obi-Wan," he said softly, "remember the Force. Remember your earliest teachings on not trusting your eyes alone. Trust the Force, young one." With that he closed his eyes and stretched out with his senses, pushing out beyond the room and the people within, past the wounded boundaries of the ship and out into space. Devoid of all life, the emptiness was complete. But Qui-Gon stretched further. The Force gave him a slight nudge and he took the hint, extending almost to his limit until he felt a slight…vibration on the edge of his awareness.

"There."

Obi-Wan's head snapped up, blue-green eyes raking the viewscreen. "Where? There's noth-"

"Yes, there is, Obi-Wan. Don't question, just fly where I direct."

Obi-Wan bit his lip but obeyed in silence, guiding the ship to Qui-Gon's instructions.

Tense minutes passed, the lights beginning to flicker around them until Qui-Gon spied his target.

"There it is. Straight ahead, Obi-Wan. Take her in."

The boy looked up briefly, searching until he spotted the glimmer of a blue sphere in the distance. His relief was quickly tainted, however.

"Do we know if it's habitable?"

Qui-Gon sighed. This boy didn't use his head enough in some ways and then entirely too much in others. "I know not," he said. "But the Force has guided me to this place and I trust my instincts. Anything's got to be better than breathing a vacuum at this stage."

Obi-Wan didn't seem entirely satisfied but he had no choice in the matter and continued limping the ship in the planet's general direction.

Qui-Gon made no comment. He caught himself thinking that the boy would benefit from some lessons in Feeling not Thinking and quickly quashed it. He wasn't going to fall into that trap. Sighing, the Master found a spare chair and sank into it. Stretching his senses as far as he had, had sapped his strength much more than he liked to admit. Damned injury.

He was just settling back to watch Obi-Wan carefully guide them to safety, when Clat-Ha strode through the doors. Her presence positively burned through the Force. Anger rolled off her in blackened waves. She gave Qui-Gon a look that said she might have known he would be here before breaking into a heated tirade.

"Well, he's done it!" she snarled. "I knew it! It was too much for him to resist!"

Qui-Gon pulled himself gingerly from the chair, using his height to command her attention. Ignoring her mood, he asked, "What's wrong, Clat'Ha?"

"Jemba!" she exploded as if the name was self-explanatory. "He saw the opportunity to cause trouble and he's done it."

Obi-Wan turned fully round in his chair. "What's he done?"

"He's stolen our entire supply of dactyl. All of it!"

Si Treemba gave a wail of despair from his corner of the room. Obi-Wan immediately reached over to comfort his friend.

Qui-Gon frowned. Jemba certainly knew what he was doing, didn't he? By taking the mineral so vital to the Arconans' diet, he now effectively held Clat'Ha's entire work force at his mercy.

"What does he hope to barter for it?" the Jedi Master asked.

"The workers! If the Arconans switch allegiance and work for that son of a Hutt, he will pay them with the dactyl. One day of work for one day of life."

"That's despicable!" Anger spiked sharply from Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon shot him an automatic look of warning, subsiding the boy. Obi-Wan turned back to the console, cheeks flaming.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes. All of this was happening too fast. One thing at a time. "How long before the Arconans start to weaken without the dactyl?" he asked Clat'Ha as evenly as he could.

"Twelve hours before we begin to succumb to the effects," Si Treemba murmured quietly. "Twenty before our condition becomes critical."

Obi-Wan squeezed his friend's arm in silent support, helpless to do any more.

Qui-Gon straightened, taking control of the situation. Panic would only hinder them. "First of all we need to land this ship safely, retrieving the dactyl now will do us no good if life support fails while we're still in space. Clat'Ha, go to your workers and do what you can to assure them. We have time yet for the Arconans. After the ship is safely down I will do everything in my power to get the dactyl back."

Gratitude flickered through Clat'Ha's eyes like a trickle of soothing water. She stepped up to Qui-Gon and grasped his broad palm impulsively. "Thank you, Master Jedi," she breathed, then swept from the room to fulfil her duty.

Obi-Wan looked up at Qui-Gon as she left. "Do you think it's possible to convince Jemba to give back the dactyl before…" the boy's eyes slid over to Si Treemba and tactfully fell silent. Qui-Gon felt a stab of approval. Two days ago the boy would have burst out with some hot headed plan to thwart the 'evil Jemba' and attempted to set the world to rights with one swipe of his lightsaber. Now he was using tact and looking to Qui-Gon for his judgement. He had learned fast and Qui-Gon couldn't help but feel pleased for him.

The Master shook his head. "He will not be easily swayed," he said, then offered the concerned boy a faint, tired smile "Don't worry, Obi-Wan. I'm sure a suitable solution will present itself." He gestured towards the view screen. "Just set us down. The rest can wait."

Obi-Wan nodded reluctantly and returned his attention to piloting the ship, his too young shoulders slumped and heavy. Si Treemba remained in silent despair. Qui-Gon could do nothing more for them. Settling back down, he waited as the planet ahead crept ever nearer. From space it looked like an endless, featureless, blue globe. Wisps of smoky clouds ghosted across the atmosphere, the only thing to break the blue monotony of the empty expanse.

The planet rotated lazily beneath them and Qui-Gon began to feel his certainty wane. From here he could see no continents, no islands, no spits of rock. Just solid blue emptiness.

What if he had been wrong to guide them here? What if all that existed down there was endless sea? If they couldn't land this ship then…

"Master Jinn!" Obi-Wan's voice broke though his darkening thoughts. "Short range sensors are picking up a small land mass just over the distant horizon."

Qui-Gon closed his eyes and let out a long – and very silent - breath of relief. "Then that's where we're headed, Obi-Wan," he said, as if nothing had ever been amiss. "Take her in as steady as you can."

The boy gripped the controls firmly in his bandaged hands. "I'll do my best," he gritted out as the ship started to rattle threateningly around them. Determination was scrawled all over his young face.

Qui-Gon smiled faintly before reaching back to strap himself in.

The ship touched the atmosphere and quickly began to blush from the friction, space cold metal suddenly glowed red. The trembling grew until the whole ship was shaking in a violent fight to stay together. Obi-Wan groaned faintly under the strain of holding it steady as they dipped ever lower.

Thick, grey clouds rose up to surrounded them and Obi-Wan automatically dropped the ship further down to clear his vision. In minutes they were greeted by the bleak landscape. Dull, turbulent skies frowned over a dark, restless sea stretching endlessly in every direction.

"Wonderful place," Obi-Wan muttered dryly from the front.

"Can you see anything yet?"

The boy shook his head. "But sensors tell us that it shouldn't be too far now." He looked over at Si Treemba for confirmation. The silent young Arconan nodded tensely.

Obi-Wan glanced at his own readouts. "We should just make it."

The ship chose that moment to give its most violet shudder yet, arguing that statement.

"I hope," the boy added, tightening his grip on the bucking controls.

Tense minutes passed with nothing but the rolling waves broiling beneath them, the spray lashing angrily at the huge, metal underside of the _Monument_, until-

"There!"

Qui-Gon's eyes shot to the viewscreen at Obi-Wan's exclamation. Deep blue eyes scanned the miserable horizon. He saw it, dead ahead, a great, solid wall of black rock looming up out of the ocean. They were headed straight for it.

Literally.

Qui-Gon cleared his throat. "Obi-Wan," he said, "you might want to fly just a little higher to get us over that."

"Yes, Master Jinn," the boy agreed. He pulled back slightly on the control stick.

Nothing happened.

"Obi-Wan."

"I know, I know," the boy muttered between his teeth.

He pulled harder on the stick.

Still nothing. They were racing along now, baring down on the cliff face. Closer and closer. One thousand meters to impact. Five hundred. Two hundred and fifty.

The cliff loomed until it filled the entire viewscreen.

"Obi-Wan!"

With a desperate cry, the boy threw himself from his chair, grabbing hold of the stick and pulling back on it with all his might.

The nose of the ship lifted abruptly away from its impending doom. They had been so close that Qui-Gon heard the ship's belly scraping against the rock.

Obi-Wan kept a death grip on the control stick until they had crested the top of the rock face, sinking wearily into his chair as he levelled them out again, skimming them over the island of rock.

His hands were trembling.

"I've decided I hate flying," he announced darkly.

Qui-Gon managed a tight smile, not trusting his own voice for the moment. He looked forward, searching for a place where they might land. The island was as barren as everywhere else. The bare rock was lashed mercilessly by the sea, permitting no plants to grow save for the hardiest of varieties. And they were few. Solitary shrubs, salt-caked and bent double in the fierce winds. No animal life could be seen. They were alone on this unknown planet.

At least that's what he thought until something huge flew past the viewscreen in a flash of silver. It had been big enough to block their sight for a few seconds.

"What in the clan gods was that?" Si Treemba exclaimed.

Qui-Gon rose and moved to the front, looking up into the sky.

Above them, scouring the far coast were hundreds of flying monsters. Fishlike in appearance, their huge silvery scaled bodies rode the air on massive membraned wings. Their heads, whipping back and forth on the ends of long necks, tapered down in to wicked mouthfuls of teeth.

"Draigons!" Qui-Gon whispered. He had only ever seen holograms of these winged creatures. Never in all his time travelling the galaxy had he seen one in the flesh.

They watched as one of the beasts went into a dive, plunging into the sea and reappearing with a fish locked in its huge jaws. A flick and the prey disappeared into the ravenous maw.

"Let us hope that's all they eat," Qui-Gon said. "Otherwise this stopover could turn out to be all the more… interesting."

Obi-Wan gave him a helpless look before a judder from the ship returned their attention to the matter at hand.

Qui-Gon pointed to the far side of the island where a gentle bay ran alongside the sea at the base of a cliff.

"Land over there, Obi-Wan. The terrain doesn't look so rough."

The boy obeyed silently, taking them in for a safe, if bumpy landing. Landing struts groaned and scraped in protest, then everything settled into silence.

Obi-Wan sank back into his chair with relief, prying his stiff hands from around the control stick.

Qui-Gon squeezed his shoulder. "That was well done, Obi-Wan," he praised.

The boy mustered the energy to give him a weary smile.

Si Treemba rose from his seat. "What now, Master Jinn?" he asked.

Qui-Gon glanced at him. The Arconan boy looked no better than Obi-Wan. A lot had happened to them since this ship had left Coruscant. To all of them. He gave the young boy a reassuring smile. "I think the best thing for you would be to get some rest now, Si Treemba. Obi-Wan and I will go out to assess the damage and secure the area."

"What about Jemba and the dactyl?"

"I will deal with the matter," Qui-Gon promised.

Seemingly reassured, or just too tired to argue, Si Treemba nodded silently and left in search of his quarters.

Qui-Gon went with him to the door, his mind turning to the repairs and possible outdoor threats. He only paused and turned back when it became apparent that he was not being followed. Obi-Wan was still sitting uncertainly in his chair. The boy was obviously waiting for a definite invite to join him.

"Are you coming, Obi-Wan?" he asked.

Obi-Wan scrambled immediately to his feet, surprised by, but not questioning his unexpected inclusion. Qui-Gon was glad of that. He couldn't have explained it himself. He should send the exhausted boy back to his quarters. But he just felt that, after all that had happened, it was somehow right that Obi-Wan remain by his side. At least for now.

Walking together in something that almost passed for companionable silence, they wound their way through the ship until they reached the air lock.

The walls around the port were torn and jagged after their violent escape from the pirates, but here at least the emergency seals had held. Qui-Gon avoided looking at the dark stain still marking the floor where he had nearly lost his life. Jedi did not believe in death. Only the eternal embrace of the Force. They were ready to give up this mortal, physical existence whenever the time called. But still, Qui-Gon did not like having his mortality rubbed in his face. With his back to the corridor, he accessed the wall controls to the hatch.

He paused when he sensed a massive presence approaching from behind them. It felt like a huge murky pond in the Force.

"Jedi!" A booming voice spoke in Huttese. "Jedi, turn and speak with the Great Jemba."

Obi-Wan stiffened, his whole body tensing. The boy's already pale skin lightened a few more shades. Frowning, Qui-Gon turned about, and came to face to face with one of the largest Hutts he had ever seen in his life.

The huge slug-like body filled the corridor, floor to ceiling. A solid mountain of thick, greenish grey, blubbery flesh. Bulbous, yellow eyes glared down malevolently from over a wide mouth, big enough to swallow a man whole. Meaty hands clenched on the ends of two thick arms protruding from the fleshy sides.

So, this was the creature that had put Obi-Wan in the infirmary on that first day. Jemba himself.

Qui-Gon experienced a spike of sharp anger. Pushing it away with more difficulty than was usual, Qui-Gon bowed graciously enough. "How might I be of service to you, Great Jemba?" he asked.

Obi-Wan visibly gaped at him. His surprise rippled through the Force.

Jemba, however, was unimpressed. "Let's not dance around with polite words, Jedi," he said "We both know it's just a façade. That snivelling woman, Clat'Ha, has been to see you, I understand."

"Ah, yes," Qui-Gon said, still trying to keep things pleasant. At least for now. "A matter I hope to speak with you about-"

Jemba cut him off with one disdainful wave of a podgy arm. "Don't waste your breath," he said. "I will not give the dactyl back, no matter what you say. It is far too valuable." The huge mouth twitched. "I hold my rivals in the palm of my hand. Those pitiful cretins will join Offworld or perish." He snorted. "I do hope they choose the latter. No one needs cowards who cannot not even defend themselves from pirates. Either way, the Arconans are finished and Offworld will strengthen." The eyes glinted malevolently. "And you can't do a thing about it, Jedi. Not out here. Not until it's too late."

The Hutt tilted his round, neckless head as much as he was physically able. "I'm not even sure you could fight. You're pale even for your weakling species. Too slow to avoid that axe blade, were you?" he taunted.

Obi-Wan's anger seethed and the boy took a threatening step towards the Hutt before Qui-Gon blocked him with an arm.

"Ho, ho," Jemba laughed, turning his attention on Obi-Wan in amusement. "Are you going to fight me then, little one? I'd have thought you'd have learned your lesson after the last time we met. Even your Master knows he's helpless against me. You are weak and I have four score Whiphid marksmen at my command. A hundred more workers." The eyes travelled lazily back to Qui-Gon. "You cannot take the dactyl back."

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. Making sure Obi-Wan had heeded his silent warning, he dropped his restraining arm and levelled his gaze at Jemba. "That remains to be seen," he said coolly.

That had obviously not been the answer the Hutt had been expecting. He slithered forward menacingly, eyes flashing. "I warn you now, Jedi, stay out of this! If I catch you or your precious boy anywhere near my side of this ship then you will be dead before ever getting a sniff of the dactyl. It is mine now. You understand?"

Qui-Gon inclined his head, showing no sign of intimidation. "I understand."

The Hutt and the Jedi locked eyes for a long moment before Jemba seemed satisfied that his threat had been heeded. "You have been warned." Turning with difficulty in the confined space, the giant alien slithered away without another word.

Qui-Gon watched until he was gone then turned away and punched in the final commands to release the landing ramp. Behind him he felt Obi-Wan attempting to release his anger and frustration into the Force. Not very successfully.

"Why didn't you stop him," the boy seethed. "He was confined. It would have been easy to draw your lightsaber and trap that monster. I've never known anyone to be so…so… evil and walk free!"

Qui-Gon looked down on him, feeling suddenly worn. "And you have been to so many places, young one."

Obi-Wan fell silent and turned his own infant eyes away from the terrible experience of the Master's.

Qui-Gon relented. "Understand, Obi-Wan, if I had killed Jemba then, we would have accomplished nothing. His place would only have been taken by another, possibly worse. There are countless beings like Jemba in this universe. Even the Jedi cannot fight every battle. We just have to accept sometimes and do what we can. In the end, it is up to people themselves to choose how they are, we cannot choose for them."

The boy nodded tightly, but he had not accepted the words. Not yet. They were harsh ones to swallow, Qui-Gon knew. He would very much like to put an end to Jemba himself but he breathed the emotion out. This was easier for him. These hard emotions had passed through him many times. What he had to worry about was how to get the dactyl back without bloodshed.

First things first. They had to know whether they could get this bucket back into space. Qui-Gon went back to the control panel and finished punching in the release code. The ramp hissed and swung down.

Wind howled in. It smacked them straight in the face with harsh salty fingers. Bitter rain followed, lashing through the doorway, threatening to flay flesh from the bone.

Pleasant.

Drawing his hood over his head, Qui-Gon tucked himself deeper into his robe and stepped out into the tempest. Obi-Wan simply stood and stared at it in dismay.

Under the dark folds, Qui-Gon peered about. Night was drawing in quickly, cloaking the desolate rock in shadow. With his senses, he searched for anything dangerous that might be hidden within the dark crevices around them. Perfect hiding places for predators. Stretching further he detected an extensive cave system hidden somewhere in the cliffs a mile inland to their left, and he gave that some serious attention before deciding it concealed nothing sinister.

To their right lay nothing but the sea, straining ceaselessly at the shoreline not a hundred meters away. No life forms lay in that direction. The land was their own. With one last cautious glance at the swooping draigons, Qui-Gon set out into the deepening dark. Obi-Wan came close on his heels, hunched against the cold.

Their path lead them all round the ship and by the time they reached their destination he could literally hear Obi-Wan's teeth chattering. He looked down at the boy huddled in his soaking cloak and felt a pang of sympathy. All the young man had ever known was the controlled environment of Coruscant and the Temple. This was no doubt coming as a shock to his system.

"Are you alright, Obi-Wan?" he called over the wind.

The boy nodded grimly from within the confines of his wind whipped hood. "I'm f-fine, Master Jinn," he said. He would not admit weakness, even if he were dying of cold. His body tremored uncontrollably before Qui-Gon's eyes. Deciding not to comment, Qui-Gon turned to study the damaged hull.

It was as bad as he'd feared. Two gaping holes were scorched into the metal. Each of them were at least a two meters long and half a meter wide.

It was a wonder they had gotten as far as they had.

"D-dear F-force," Obi-Wan breathed.

Qui-Gon nodded and raised his voice once more above the angry weather. "That won't be easy to fix, especially in these conditions."

"We don't h-have many engineers on b-board," Obi-Wan informed him. "And m-most of them were injured in the at-t-tack."

Qui-Gon absorbed this silently for a moment. "It can't be helped," he said finally. "We'll have to do the best we can with what we've got. We can lend a hand with repairs. I think it might be wise to keep numbers to a minimum in any case." He glanced at the sky. "The draigons appear to be fish-eaters, but I don't want to risk them making an exception if they take an interest in us. I'd say no more than two or three out at a time. It'll slow things down but I think it's for the best." He did not relish the idea of spending days stranded on this forsaken planet whilst trying to outwit an ambitious Hutt. He'd rather they could get under way. But it wasn't to be.

"Come, Obi-Wan," he said at last. "There's nothing more we can do tonight." He started back toward the ship's entrance, bending against the unforgiving wind and feeling that it wasn't a moment too soon. Obi-Wan was exhausted, not to mention chilled to the bone. The boy had yet to build on his stamina and he was reaching the end of it now.

As was he. If he put his fierce independence aside for just a moment, Qui-Gon could not deny that the exhaustion extended to himself. The ache in his shoulder had grown from a bearable twinge to a throbbing pain that burned all the way down his arm and back. Maybe he'd pushed it just a bit too far. The cold certainly hadn't helped.

The warmth of the ship, when they finally re-entered, was like heaven. Sighing with relief, Qui-Gon pushed back his dripping hood with his good hand and turned to Obi-Wan. The boy was literally weaving on his feet. Water dripped from the robe wrapped tightly round the shivering frame. He looked for all the world like a drowned womp rat. Small and in need of care.

Qui-Gon found himself taking half a step towards the boy before he pulled himself up and squared his shoulders

"Go to your quarters, Obi-Wan," he said firmly. "Change into something dry and try to get some sleep now. You need it."

He expected the boy to agree gratefully but to his surprise Obi-Wan's eyes shot up. "But what about Jemba?" he challenged, the Hutt's gloating face still fresh in his mind. "We have to get him to give the dactyl back. We must do something!"

"It will be dealt with," Qui-Gon told him firmly. "Tonight is not the time."

"But-"

"I will deal with it, Obi-Wan," he said, irritably curbing the pending argument before it could begin. "It is my responsibility. Not yours."

Obi-Wan's mouth pressed closed and he stared sullenly at the floor. He obviously wanted to argue more, but just as obviously remembered the last time they had had this sort of confrontation. The results had not been pleasant, ending in a serious tongue lashing the equivalent of a physical blow.

A ripple of guilt clashed suddenly with his irritation. Qui-Gon pinched the bridge of his nose. Why was it always so difficult with this boy? He never knew how to feel.

"Obi-Wan," he began again. "I know you want to help your friend, and we will. I will get the dactyl back. But you must learn patience. Now is not the time. It is late and you are exhausted." He held up a hand against Obi-Wan's imminent protest. "It will not be easy to get Jemba to give up the dactyl. And…" the words slipped unbidden out of his mouth, "I, too, feel the need to rest before that confrontation." His hand drifted unconsciously towards his throbbing shoulder.

Obi-Wan caught the motion. Guilt flittered over his young features. "I'm sorry, Master Jinn," he said remorsefully. "I keep forgetting…" He started forward. "Let me help you back to your quarters."

Qui-Gon snapped back to attention, realising what he had just so unguardedly admitted: vulnerability to a twelve year old child. He was mortified that Obi-Wan seemed to think that he was the one that needed looking after. "That will not be necessary, Obi-Wan," he said, more defensively than he intended. "You have done enough. Go to your quarters. I can take care of myself."

The boy halted, hurt evident in his face, then his expression smoothed and he bowed swiftly. "As you wish," he said neutrally. "Sleep well, Master Jinn." With that he turned and walked away, stumbled once, righted himself, then marched slowly on in search of his quarters.

Qui-Gon himself could only stand there watching until he had completely disappeared from sight, a prisoner of his own sharp words as they hung starkly in the air around him.

That had been entirely unnecessary.

Shame flooded him and Qui-Gon sagged, not knowing what had come over him. It was like he didn't know himself any more. Acting more like a posturing adolescent whose pride had been wounded, he had just succeeded in pushing further distance between himself and the boy who only wished to help him. Who _had_ helped him.

But instead of feeling glad about the distance as he had before, he now felt a strange pang of loss. He was sorry for it.

He frowned ferociously. No that should not be!

Qui-Gon straightened his shoulders and pushed the feelings aside. He was deeply remorseful for having hurt the boy again but that was all he would allow himself to acknowledge. Keeping Obi-Wan away was for the best. It was cruel to get his hopes up. He was never going to take the boy as his Padawan.

When this was over Obi-Wan would start his new life on Bandomeer and Qui-Gon could go back to enjoying the security of his solitude.

No more intense blue-green eyes throwing all his carefully measured emotions into disarray.

Repairs would start at dawn, he decided. The faster they started the sooner he could be free of this and be certain of himself once more.

The journey back to his quarters was slow and painful, the seemingly endless corridor stretching on forever before his faltering feet. When he finally reached his room even the hard, undersized sleep pallet looked inviting to his weary eyes. Gingerly Qui-Gon lowered himself down onto the thin mattress. His shoulder throbbed mercilessly and he cursed as he tried to get comfortable. This was all he needed right now.

Settling into the best position he could find, he reached for sleep. But tired as he was, he found rest elusive. Thoughts whirled in his mind, Jemba, the dactyl, repairs, Obi-Wan…

Sleep, when finally it did come, was far from peaceful.

The rain lashed through his dreams, the sea roared in response, swelling and climbing the land, higher and higher until all was drowning beneath it.

Drowning.

Drowning…

Master Jinn!

Qui-Gon frowned in his dream. His head pounded in time with the rising waves.

"Master Jinn!"

Qui-Gon snapped awake, he sat bolt upright as the pounding in his head translated to someone banging on his cabin door. He winced as his shoulder screamed in protest.

The sky outside was completely dark. He deduced with surprise that several hours must have passed since he retired.

"Alright, alright," he said as he pulled himself up and made his way over to the door. He hit the release and deftly avoided being pounded on the chest by the harried young officer still knocking on the other side.

The crewman stepped back quickly. "Master Jedi, please gather your things and make your way to the landing bay. Captain's orders." With that he went to hurry off to the next door but Qui-Gon quickly caught his arm.

"What's going on?"

The young man frowned. "The storm, sir," he said. His tone suggested that it should be common knowledge, but at Qui-Gon's questioning look he added, "Listen."

Qui-Gon stilled for the first time since being woken. Sure enough, like an echo from his dream, he heard it. The sound of the wind tearing across the land and around the ship. But that paled in comparison to the sound of the rain, like distant thunder, and… something, something else…

His eyes widened even as the young officer confirmed his suspicions.

"The sea is rising, sir. If this rain does not ease soon, the ship will be swamped in less than three hours. The captain has ordered everyone out. We're to evacuate to the caves further inland. Now hurry!"

He rushed off before Qui-Gon could stop him again.

Qui-Gon stood for a moment, trying to absorb this latest blow. Then he turned swiftly and did as he was bid, quickly snatching up his survival pack. If there was an emergency then he needed to be in a position to help. There were few enough crew as it was. Though it seemed the captain had finally regained consciousness.

Arconans swarmed the corridors, a low humming noise betraying their nervousness.

Qui-Gon started to point them in the right direction when he heard a familiar voice.

"Come on, now. Move along. The faster you get organised the faster we'll get out!"

Clat-Ha.

Two seconds later the woman herself marched round the corner, barking at and taking control of her workers. In no time all the Arconan's were moving swiftly in the direction of the landing bay.

The fiery red-headed woman caught sight of the Jedi and grinned. "Qui-Gon. If this is what you get from travelling with a Jedi, I'm not sure I want to come across you again."

Qui-Gon smiled at her in return, marvelling at her continued humour even after everything that had happened. "I don't know what you're talking about," he returned.

She snorted. "I'll bet."

He fell into step with her.

"You seem to be in a good mood."

She smiled. "Well, I'm not too enamoured with the idea of camping out in a damp cave for however long this storm lasts. But I've heard Jemba is furious. And anything that annoys him pleases me."

"Why is he so upset?" Qui-Gon frowned. "It's hardly anyone's fault."

Clat'Ha shrugged. "I don't know. He just hates things to be out of his control." Another grin tugged at her lips, barely smothered. "That and he's got to ooze his way over all those rocks. Hmm, I should have laid some sharpened ones out especial."

Qui-Gon smiled and nodded, though he was barely listening anymore. Something told him there was more to Jemba's rage than met the eye.

He mulled it over slowly in his mind as they walked the rest of the way to the landing bay where a large crowd had gathered.

He spotted Obi-Wan coming the other way herding a small group of Arconans before him.

The boy gave him a slight smile and a nod of recognition, which Qui-Gon returned, glad at least to see him there and looking none the worst for their last exchange.

Carefully he made his way over to the boy

"Is that everyone?" he asked

Obi-Wan shook his head. "I'm not sure. I met this group on my way here and they needed reassurance." He looked worried. "There may be a few still left back there. Sorry, Master Jinn, I didn't think to look."

Qui-Gon shook his head. "It's alright. I'll go back and check. There can't be many left." With that Qui-Gon fought his way through the crowd and set off in search of any stragglers.

Making a systematic check of every room, he managed to locate five more Arconan workers still desperately gathering up their few possessions. All looked strained and unwell. Their usually green skin had turned an ashen grey and once luminous eyes were now dull with sickness.

The deprivation of dactyl was beginning to tell on them. He guessed they had until midday today before their condition became critical.

Qui-Gon clenched his fists. He had to find a way to get the dactyl back.

Somehow.

Lightening flashed outside, illuminating the hard, drenched landscape without. Preoccupied, Qui-Gon glanced out of the porthole window, idly noting the movement of some unidentified creatures crawling up the face of a nearby cliff. Even at this distance he could see the flash of light glow bright yellow against indistinct, furry bodies. The rain showed no signs of easing.

Thunder rolled as darkness returned.

Qui-Gon turned away, guiding the Arconans down the corridor as the problem with Jemba continued to play through his mind.

He had to find a way to get onto the Offworld side of the ship without been seen. Ordinarily it wouldn't be too much of a problem for him. As a Jedi he had been in many situations requiring stealth. But Jemba was a creature of deception. He would be well versed in what an opponent may do behind his back, seeing as he was a master of the art himself.

Qui-Gon would have too…

But wait.

The ship was potentially at risk from the rising sea. Jemba wouldn't risk his precious commodity by leaving it to the waves, which meant he would have to move it…

Qui-Gon's step faltered as everything clicked into place; Jemba's rage, the flash of yellow on the fur of the climbing animals-

There were no animals on this island.

Qui-Gon's mind began to tick. What he must have seen were Jemba's Whiphid henchmen carrying the dactyl away. Their furry bodies would easily make them appear animal-like from a distance.

Yes. Yes.

Qui-Gon knew with sudden certainty that the dactyl was no longer aboard the ship. It was up the cliff, probably stashed in a high cave, well away from where the refugees of the _Monument_ may find it.

Qui-Gon's mind turned the situation over quickly. Jemba could not reach that cave himself. Which meant Qui-Gon would only have to deal with a few of his henchmen. The Hutt no longer held the advantage here. Hence the rage.

The Jedi Master's eyes blazed with new purpose. He knew where he had to go and there was no time to waste.

Doubling the pace of the flagging Arconans before him he quickly returned to the hanger bay, packed now to near bursting. Several Hutts had now arrived on the scene making the space very cramped indeed.

"Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon called over the sea of heads, sharp eyes searching for the boy. He did not want to put pressure on him again but the turn of events left him once more with no choice.

"Obi-Wan!"

"I'm here, Master Jinn," the boy pushed his way through to him, his face questioned Qui-Gon's urgent tone apprehensively.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon looked down at him, "I know where Jemba is keeping the dactyl and I'm going after it. I need you to stay and make sure everyone reaches those caves safely. Everyone must get there, Offworld and Arconan alike. Make sure nobody strays or gets left behind. And…" he dropped his voice. "I don't like the fact that Clat'Ha and Jemba are going to be cooped up in the same space. It will be up to you to keep the peace and keep them from one another's throats. I'll be back as soon as I have the dactyl."

Obi-Wan looked uncertain. "But won't you need help?" the boy asked. "The crew should be able to manage everyone here, but Jemba will not have left that dactyl unguarded," he indicated Qui-Gon's injured shoulder. "You're not yet healed, Master Jinn. You may have more need of me."

Qui-Gon sighed and rubbed his weary eyes with a thumb and forefinger. He didn't have time for this but he had had enough of snapping at the boy, and his arguments did hold some validity. "Obi-Wan," he said slowly, "for once just trust me and do as I ask you. It is true that the dactyl will probably be well guarded. However, he crew are not trained to resolve and meditate a conflict. You are. Two sworn enemies are going to be holed up in the same cave. It has the potential to escalate into a very volatile situation. You have to be there." He reached out tentatively and placed his hand on the boy's shoulder. Obi-Wan tensed minutely under the touch but stayed still and Qui-Gon remained, holding Obi-Wan's eyes. "And that's not the only reason," he said. "The Arconans are starting to show signs of dactyl deprivation. They are going to get weak very quickly now, Clat'Ha will have her hand full. She will not be able to manage the situation alone. She will need you to help her support her people in their hour of need."

Obi-Wan looked round at the Arconans, his blue-green eyes falling upon his friend Si-Treemba away in the corner, his skin had turned the same ashen grey as the rest of his failing kin. The sight seemed to sway him.

"You're right, Master," he said slowly, though still appearing torn. "I'm needed here."

Qui-Gon squeezed his shoulder briefly. "Yes, you are. And I need to go. There is no more time to waste. May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan."

"And you also, Master Jinn," the boy replied, looking up at the Jedi Master as if he meant it with all of his heart.

Sure he must be mistaking the look, Qui-Gon nodded in acknowledgement, dropped his hand and started away.

Little did he know that his departure had not gone undetected. A comlink was drawn.

**(*)*(*)*(*)**

The lashing of the rain stung like a thousand razor blades. The wind was like a physical blow. On into these elements Qui-Gon marched, tall frame bent almost double against them. Through his thrashing cowl he could just make out the cliff far ahead of him. As the lightning flashed he could see that everything had grown still. The Whiphids had completed their task.

And were probably all armed to the teeth and waiting patiently for him at the top, he thought grimly. He had no idea how many were up there and Obi-Wan was right-he was still injured, though he tried stubbornly to ignore the fact.

He wished with all his heart that he still had his Padawan, that Xanatos wasn't lost to him but was returned whole and well. The fiery, intense boy that guarded his back, black Padawan braid whipping as his midnight eyes danced above an eager smile.

Qui-Gon's chest throbbed with pain, burning the scars that were scored across his spirit.

No he should not be alone, Obi-Wan was right there, too, but the Force had deemed it so and so it was. He had to accept it.

Calling on the considerable will that had seen him survive countless insurmountable odds, even when he himself had not wished it, Qui-Gon shoved the memories of Xanatos aside. He had a job to do and he intended to see it through. The dactyl had to be returned to the Arconans before the day reached it's full. Already time was pounding on his skull as he neared the bottom of the cliff face.

Qui-Gon studied the rocks before him, deep blue eyes gradually roaming upward as he plotted his best course of ascent.

This was going to be tricky. The foot and handholds that he could pick out weren't that generous, and the surface was slick. He was a big man, bigger than the Whiphids and he didn't have their soft gripping feet, only the flat, broad soles of his long boots.

He was going to have to concentrate very, very hard if he was going to survive this. Defeat at the foot of a cliff face was not an option.

Taking a firm grip on his first handhold Qui-Gon began to climb.

The rain beat down on his upturned face. Icy water relentlessly found the gaps in his cloak and tunics, sliding down his flinching back as he climbed steadily higher. Qui-Gon resisted the urge to shiver. Such a motion could not be allowed if he wanted to remain attached to these rocks. The howling gusts threatened the rip him clean into the air. His shoulder began to burn from the effort of fighting the wind and dragging his weight along as the rocks grew smaller and ever more traitorous. Qui-Gon gritted his teeth and tried to dig his toes in more firmly, striving to take more weight off his protesting limb.

It was a mistake.

As the tip of his boots grasped the rock with a more tenacious effort, the stone crumbled beneath the strain.

Qui-Gon's stomach plunged and he began to fall, tumbling back into the dark abyss below.

_No!_

With a whip of the Force he lunged forward catching himself with his hands and holding on for dear life. He was not going to die here. Too many people were counting on him.

Carefully he replaced his feet on the rocks and rested for a moment melding himself to the rock, waiting until his adrenaline pumped body stopped trembling and his breathing returned to normal.

_That __was __too __close, __you __old __fool_, he swore silently at himself. What had his friend Tahl told him long ago as eight-year-olds competing innocently among the Temple fountains, _'__you __need __to __love __the __rock. __Don__'__t __fight __it.__'_

He had thought it silly at the time but now he understood better what she had meant by the comment. He had to work with the cliff face, not against it, and if he ever got to the top of this in one piece he made a silent promise to Tahl that he would love the rock for the rest of his life.

Steadier now, he continued on, using the Force to sense where best to climb, blocking out everything else including the pain in his shoulder and truly becoming one with the cliff.

In no time at all he was nearing the mouth of the cave.

Just as his head was levelling with the ledge, Qui-Gon halted again, assessing what he might be facing when he pulled himself up.

His senses told him that there were five Whiphids present but none of them were nearby.

Qui-Gon lifted his head and peered over the ledge, confirming with his eyes what his senses had told him. The cave entrance stood empty.

Carefully Qui-Gon hauled himself up until he was crouching just inside the cave's mouth. The shelter of the rock walls brought instant relief from the brutal wind.

Still nothing.

The Whiphids must be further in, sheltering from the foul weather. Qui-Gon smiled to himself. Though he couldn't blame them, he mused that Jemba really ought to employ better security forces.

Qui-Gon straightened and with stealthy movements belying the size of him, he crept swiftly forward like a cat. Time was once again pressing on his mind.

The cave was large, maybe fifty metres back and opening out a hundred meters to either side. He couldn't quite be sure though, the weak light from outside barely strayed further than the entrance and Qui-Gon soon found himself in near blackness.

Rocks large and small were littered all around him and Qui-Gon used his Force sense to navigate himself around them. He dare not light his saber. The glow of the blade would help him find his way but would also help Jemba's henchmen find him.

They were here somewhere, he could tell that much, but Whiphids had very little presence in the Force, almost as little as to be Force-blind. It was impossible for Qui-Gon to pinpoint their position or gauge their mood and intent. He just knew that they were there.

He would have to be careful.

Silently he crept further in.

Twenty meters from the entrance and Qui-Gon began to detect a change in the darkness. A faint yellow glow was coming from up ahead. If he hadn't been sure of what he was looking for, he could almost say he was imagining it.

But Qui-Gon knew better and his heart lifted. He had found the dactyl.

Stepping round a last rock he came upon the large yellow pile of precious mineral, glowing steadily in the darkness-all the dactyl that Jemba had stolen from the Arconans. He had hidden it well. If Qui-Gon had not happened to spy the Whiphids climbing the cliff, it might never have been found.

Carefully Qui-Gon stilled himself in the darkness. There was still no sign of the Whiphids who should be guarding this precious pile and he had come this far without being challenged. Qui-Gon began to hope that the guards truly did not know of his presence. Maybe they were sleeping after their night's activity, secure in the knowledge that they would never be found up here.

If that was the case then he could take some of the dactyl and be gone before they even knew they had been invaded.

It was certainly preferable to fighting.

Carefully Qui-Gon removed a pouch from inside his utility belt and stepped towards the yellow mound before him.

Still nothing.

Encouraged, Qui-Gon stooped and began to fill the bag. He wished he had spared enough time to find a larger one, but this should be enough to go round until a better solution could be found.

Filling the pouch as much as he could, Qui-Gon straightened and tied it off securely, not wishing to waste a single crystal.

Turning he swiftly made his way back towards the mouth of the cave. He had to be quick now. If one of the Whiphids happened to check on their stash then his cover would be blown.

Ten meters to the exit he could smell the salty wind outside. He would almost welcome it after being in here. Drawn on by the tantalising taste of freedom and success, Qui-Gon lengthened his stride. Almost there.

Then his world exploded into red fire.

Blaster shots rained on him from all sides, raking at the Jedi's vulnerable flesh.

Qui-Gon remained alive then only by pure instinct and reflexes honed by a lifetime of practice.

The instant he heard the first gun fire, his lightsaber was ignited in his hand, green blade deflecting the red energy bolts spitting through the darkness.

Qui-Gon staggered back as his mind caught up with the rest of him. A trap! _Fool!_ The Whiphids had known he was here all along. They had let him pass unchallenged and now blocked his only escape route. He now was effectively trapped without a retreat.

Even the light was on their side, for it shone straight into Qui-Gon's dark-adjusted eyes while illuminating him rather perfectly for the Whiphids to fire at.

Clever.

But Qui-Gon was a Jedi Master and he did not need his eyes to fight. Tucking the pouch of dactyl into his belt he took hold of his lightsaber with both hands and fought back hard. He would not be locked away in here.

Deflecting the blaster bolts, Qui-Gon let the Force take over his actions, directing the deflected energy where it bid.

A cry of pain was his only indication that he had taken one of the marksmen out.

One down, four to go, he counted distantly.

The next two, angered by the Jedi's success, tried to get closer in an attempt to bring the big man down. From both sides they came, pinning Qui-Gon between them.

It was a mistake.

Without letting his guard against the blaster fire drop, Qui-Gon reached out with his left hand. With a sharp yank of the Force he pulled both blasters from the grasp of the bold but unprepared Whiphids, disarming them in an instant. Another blast from the Force propelled one backwards into the cave wall. Then Qui-Gon whirled and kicked, catching the other marksman straight in the jaw and dropping him to the floor unconscious.

Two to go.

But it seemed these two were the smarter of the group. They had seen what the Master could do and chose to bide their time, staying well out of sight and well out of reach. Perhaps they would tire him.

Perhaps they would.

Already Qui-Gon could feel an ache beginning deep in his shoulders, already strained by the climb to get here.

It was time to go on the offensive.

Calling on the Force, Qui-Gon jumped, propelling himself towards the craggy ceiling. Deactivating his lightsaber he caught onto the protruding rocks with both hands and pulled himself up and out of sight. Finding crevices in which to tuck his feet Qui-Gon hung there waiting.

The blasters felt silent. Uncertainty filled the air. He had moved so fast the Whiphids had not seen where he had disappeared to.

Still Qui-Gon waited.

Waited until a small movement caught his eye. Off to his right one of the Whiphids had peered above its concealing rock, moving out to search for its missing quarry.

It would find him soon enough, Qui-Gon thought grimly, but not until it was too late. Using a touch of the Force and all of his human strength, Qui-Gon began to crawl forward, upside down, until he was directly over the Whiphid.

Then with out warning he dropped, coming down atop his enemy like a big cat. The Whiphid did not know what had hit him. A lightsaber hilt flashed out, coming down upon the marksman's gun hand, splintering bone and sending the blaster flying. Booted feet connected with a furred scull and all was over. The Whiphid had not even had chance to cry out.

Qui-Gon righted himself and stepped away from the fallen body, instantly searching for the last guard.

But his enemy had already found him.

"Nice trick, Jedi," a nasally voice drawled from close behind. "To bad it had to be your last."

Qui-Gon stiffened as a blaster clicked in the darkness, knowing he would be too late, hemmed in as he was by the surrounding rocks. Still he twirled as best he could, igniting his lightsaber even as he braced for the killing burn of the coming shot.

But it never came.

Instead a strange 'urrp' sounded in the suspended moment followed by a blood curdling scream.

Qui-Gon completed his turn to find the cave mouth blocked by a massive form. Silver, scaly skin tapering down into a wicked fish-like head. Massive jaws gripped at the bloody remains of the last Whiphid guard.

Qui-Gon froze. A Draigon. With all the commotion they had succeeded in attracting its attention. And it did indeed seem to have taken an exception to eating fish.

The ugly head whipped back and with a quick swallow the Whiphid disappeared into the maw. Satisfied the beast started looking around for something else.

_Oh, __Force_. Qui-Gon pressed himself into the darkness, trying to get further out of sight, but the flat yellow eyes turned, already spotting him among the rocks.

As the massive teeth reached forward, Qui-Gon discovered he had a distinctly _bad_ feeling about this.

Qui-Gon threw himself backwards, watching as the reaching jaws snapped shut just inches from his face. So close he could smell the fishy breath.

The head withdrew a touch, frustrated by the morsel just beyond its reach. Wriggling its slippery body it tried to force itself further into the cave.

Qui-Gon cast about desperately, looking for a way to escape.

But his thoughts were suddenly cut short.

In that instant, a terrible, heartfelt plea flooded his mind, calling out and reaching him even as his brain whirled.

_Obi-Wan._

The call was so powerful that Qui-Gon instantly forgot the monster in the doorway, the stench of death and blood.

He only knew that Obi-Wan needed him. The sudden need to return to the boy overwhelmed everything else.

Gathering himself together, Qui-Gon waited as the giant maw reached for him again. Then like a shot from a bow he leapt forward, dodging past the seeking teeth and firing up his lightsaber as he went.

Startled the Draigon reared backwards with an enraged cry, giving Qui-Gon the opening he'd been searching for. The cave entrance was now free.

Qui-Gon raced forward and, heedless of the terrifying drop outside, threw himself from the cliff ledge, trusting to the Force completely.

And it didn't let him down.

He had not fallen more than fifty meters towards the jagged rocks below when his path was intersected by another flying Draigon.

Qui-Gon landed hard upon its slimy back. The wind was knocked from him but he gripped on desperately, refusing to fall. His shoulder screamed in protest under the abuse. Qui-Gon felt some of the glue holding the injury together give way. Hot blood began to trickle down his back.

Stalwartly ignoring his body, Qui-Gon hauled himself astride the beast even as the Draigon cried out in surprise and bucked, trying to rid itself of its unwanted rider.

Qui-Gon gripped his knees against the slippery sides as best he could while desperately trying to gain some control over the beast's primitive mind.

There was hardly enough thought process there to control, but eventually he managed to quiet the Draigon.

From the air Qui-Gon cast about, searching for the caves where the others were hidden.

He spotted them a mile in land from where the _Monument_ rested. That was where he needed to be.

_Down__there,__my__friend_, he pushed the notion into his strange mount's mind.

With a confused squawk the Draigon obeyed, winging down smoothly towards the inland caves.

He had not counted on the other Draigons' beady eyes, however.

A shadow fell across the earth. Qui-Gon heart plummeted like a rock as he looked up and saw to his horror that a whole flock of the flying beasts were now winging after him, alerted by his mount's cry and driven to rid it of its passenger.

There were hundreds of them. And more were gathering. A hungry black cloud was now heading straight for where the rest of the refugees were hidden.

Oh, dear Force. What had he done.

He had to warn them down there, they had to prepare for… this.

For a second he was at a loss.

The only way was to alert Obi-Wan through their fledgling bond, if that was what it was. The boy had been able to reach him every time he had had a need but Qui-Gon had never tried to do the same, too stubborn and afraid of the pain it would cause him if he did.

He was left now with no choice in the matter. Shutting out the strong memory of Xanatos that inevitably rose with the action, Qui-Gon reached for the strange connection he now had with Obi-Wan.

It came to him with an ease that surprised and Qui-Gon felt the awareness of the boy's mind mingle instantly with his.

It was a bond, alright

But neglected as it was, it was not strong enough for detailed communication, so Qui-Gon did his best to push along the sense of coming danger and the need to warn every soul hiding within the doomed caves.

He received no response and for a moment Qui-Gon despaired. The flock of Draigons was closing and Obi-Wan had not heard him. Had his fear and stubborn heart condemned everyone on this planet to death?

He would never forgive himself if it had.

But just as his hope dwindled to almost nothing, there came a flash of blue, cutting through the blackness of his despair. Obi-Wan raced from the caves, lightsaber held high, ready to face whatever threat had been forewarned.

Qui-Gon watched as the boy's step faltered, the blue blade sagging slightly as its owner caught sight of the nightmare that was winging towards him. But only for a moment. In the next second the lightsaber straightened firmly as Obi-Wan prepared himself to battle the insurmountable odds.

_Like__a__Jedi_, Qui-Gon's mind whispered, but he had no time to mull over the statement, for the ground was rushing up at him. His ride had reached its end.

Wasting no time Qui-Gon released his hold on the Draigon's mind and gathered himself, leaping into the air even as the beast twisted and snapped at his heels.

Bloodied and battered, Qui-Gon fell, hit the floor and ran.

He did not stop or look back until he reached Obi-Wan's side just inside the cave entrance.

The boy's shifting eyes took him all in at a glance, including the pouch still hanging securely from Qui-Gon's belt. One trouble, at least, lifted from his young brow

"Go, Master," he said as Qui-Gon drew level and slowed. "Go to them. They need you."

Qui-Gon's gaze flickered towards the gathering cloud. Obi-Wan caught it and urged him on. "I'll hold them, Master Jinn," he said, gripping his lightsaber firmly. "Go now."

The look of quiet resolution on the boy's face caught Qui-Gon's returning protest in his throat. He was completely accepting and at peace with what would most certainly result in his death and defeat. He had deemed the lives of those in the caves more important than his own and he was willing to lay it down for them all. A twelve-year-old boy.

_Jedi,_ Qui-Gon's mind whispered again as he stepped forward. This young man was turning out to be more than he ever expected.

Almost he stayed. Almost he ignited his lightsaber and turned to face death at the boy's side. But Obi-Wan was right. He was right. Others were relying on them.

Qui-Gon paused just long enough to squeeze the boy's rigid shoulder before racing on into the caves, shutting out as he went the sound of a thousand terrible wings circling above and the hum of a single lightsaber standing alone.

Down the twisting passageways he fled. These new caves were a maze of different tunnels. It would be easy to get caught up in them and lost. Qui-Gon relied wholly on the Force to lead him true even as it screamed at him to return to the entrance. To the boy…

Soon enough the tunnel he had been following opened out into a huge cavern and he came upon those he had been looking for.

As big as the cave was it was filled near to bursting with everyone from the _Monument_. Whiphids stalked around clusters of grey Arconans, huddled together, cradling their sick. Hutts lounged on the outskirts. He could not see Jemba.

He wondered for a second on the great Hutt's whereabouts but he found he couldn't spare the attention for long. A slim form detached itself from a group of Arconans and hurried over to him.

"Qui-Gon!" Clat'Ha's face was grey with fatigue and worry.

Qui-Gon stopped her with a raised hand. He had no time for lengthy explanations. Doing his best to ignore the flutter he felt deep down where there had been nothing for so many years, he quickly he drew forth the full bag of Dactyl and placed it in Clat'Ha's stunned and shaking hands.

"Get this around to your people as quickly as possible, Clat'Ha," he said to the young woman. "They will not last much longer." He brushed her stammering questions aside. "I have to return to Obi-Wan. He needs my help, now. Just look after the Arconans."

Clat'Ha looked up at him, though her eyes full of wonder and thanks a trace of worry still ran beneath. "What's wrong?"

Qui-Gon was already turning away. "I don't have time to explain, Clat'Ha. There is danger approaching. Tell everybody who can fight to be ready. We've got company."

He didn't look back to see her reaction to his ominous words. He was sorry for his brusqueness but the Force was urging him to return to Obi-Wan. The lost seconds seemed to crawl by him, telling him he would be too late if he didn't hurry.

True enough he had barely started back down the tunnel when his chest gave a sudden lurch. His heart skipped a beat as a mental shiver of distress that was not his own caused him to stagger on his feet.

Before today he would have shaken it off, determinedly shut out the unwanted connection with a wounded flick. He would not be responsible for the boy.

But things had changed. He hadn't asked for it. But they had.

He could no sooner ignore that call now as stop breathing.

Qui-Gon burst down the tunnel, Force-sprinting along without a hint of Jedi reserve.

Voices sounded from up ahead. He could hear Obi-Wan now. His young voice sounded desperate even as he tried to reason.

"Jemba, don't do this. You have to help. There's-"

"Ho, ho," a deep, booming laugh cut across the boy's plea. "Don't try that with me, Jedi brat!" the voice spat in Huttese. "I'll ask again: where is your Master?"

No answer

The Hutt chuckled again. "Your silence tells me more than your words, boy. He's gone after the dactyl, hasn't he? You Jedi were always too smart for your own good." The deep tone turned dangerous. "Well if he's busy taking something from me, I'm just going to have to take something precious from him. Boys!"

"No, please-"

Obi-Wan was cut short by a thud and a cry of pain

Qui-Gon surged forward pulling his lightsaber hilt from his belt as he tore around the last corner.

And there before him, ten meters away from the entrance, was the missing Hutt. Obi-Wan lay crumpled on the ground before him. At least twenty Whiphids surrounded the boy, one of whom stood over him, blaster poised, ready to fire the killing shot.

With a shout Qui-Gon hurled himself between them. Lightsaber blazing to life as he landed, standing over the fallen boy. A Force shove hurled the threatening Whiphid back into the cave wall. The others rapidly back-pedalled, not prepared to face a Jedi Maser in all his protective glory.

"You will leave him alone, now," Qui-Gon's voice was deadly.

"Ah, here he is," The Hutt was the only one untroubled by his presence. The bulbous eyes looked down on him disdainfully. "Greetings, Master Jinn. Just in time to postpone your boy's timely demise, I see."

Qui-Gon's almost saw red before he forced himself to draw a steadying breath. Yet again his emotions here were taking him completely by surprise and he had to fight to get them under control. He had been numb for so long that the rush threatened to drown him.

"Back off, Jemba," he said through gritted teeth. "Obi-Wan is right. Our energies are needed for more important things than revenge."

Jemba shook his head darkly. "You're wrong, Master Jedi," he said. "Revenge is my life. And you're hopelessly out numbered." He glanced to either side at the twenty or so Whiphid henchmen he had at his command and raised his arm. "I shall enjoy watching you die, Master Jinn," he rumbled and dropped his fist

The air was suddenly alive with blaster fire.

Qui-Gon became a blur of motion, his lightsaber like a wall of green fire as he protected himself and Obi-Wan from the deadly red bolts.

Through the Force he silently urged the boy back to his feet. Obi-Wan's brow was bleeding badly as he struggled to rise and find his lightsaber. His eyes were slightly glazed. Qui-Gon pushed him down again. The boy was in no fit state.

Ceaselessly the Whiphids fired, but they were no match for Qui-Gon now as he connected with the Force like he had not done in years. In seconds five of the Whiphids had fallen, to either their own blaster bolts or to the dancing green blade of one of the finest swordsmen the Jedi had ever known.

Jemba began to look less than certain.

Only six Whiphids were left when the great Hutt lost nerve. Grabbing a blaster from one of his fallen guards he levelled it at the Jedi's back as he fought to subdue the last of the Whiphids. "You're impressive, Jedi," he snarled. "But it's time for you to die now." And with that he fired the weapon.

"No!" Qui-Gon heard the cry torn from Obi-Wan's lips as the boy threw himself from the ground. The sapphire blade burst forth, deflecting the killing shot almost before it had a chance to emerge from the blaster's muzzle.

The bolt ricocheted blindly and met flesh. The smell of ozone and burnt skin filled the air.

The cave fell silent for an eternal minute.

Jemba gave a short laugh of disbelief, gazing down at the gaping hole in his chest before sagging to the ground.

He was dead.

For a moment no one moved. Then the Whiphids took one last look at their fallen leader and fled.

Straight out of the cave.

"No!" Qui-Gon cried. But he was too late. Screams filled the air as the Whiphids were devoured by the waiting draigons.

Their position was blown. Heavy bodies began to hit the ground, looking into the caves for more treats upon which to feed. Their time had run out.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon grabbed the boy's shoulder as he stood frozen before the body of Jemba the Hutt. He was trembling faintly. "Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon gentled his voice a notch but not the tone of urgency. "Now is not the time. We still have to stop those beasts. People are still counting on us."

That pulled Obi-Wan back out of himself, "Yes, Master," he forced out, just as the first scaly head forced itself through the entrance with an ear splitting cry.

Displaying no signs of weariness from the recent battle with Jemba, Qui-Gon darted forward, Obi-Wan close on his heels.

Lightsabers flashed and the invading draigon shrieked in pain, pulling out of the cave as it thrashed blindly.

Out through the gap it left behind the Jedi burst. Together they fought as the draigons began to plunge from the sky, both giving themselves over to a dance for sheer survival. Blue and green blades slashed left and right weaving in an intricate display that was as beautiful as it was deadly.

But that was nothing compared to how the Force blazed now between Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon felt it bind them together more powerfully than it ever had before. He was a part of the boy as much as Obi-Wan was a part of him.

As one they protected each other, knowing without thinking where and how the other would move. Deflecting and thrusting back the lunging muzzles and flailing tails before they could break through their deadly defence.

He sensed Obi-Wan's complete acceptance of the Force's will. There was no evidence of the turbulent and awkward boy Qui-Gon had met back at the Temple. He was completely given over to his task and to Qui-Gon.

Their bond was complete.

It was pure. It was strong. And it _hurt._ The warmth that glowed inside, begging to be accepted, only served as a searing scorch to the worn scars upon his heart.

_Xanatos._

_Xanatos… _

The name resounded in his mind.

Great winged bodies began to pile up around them. But for every draigon as they cut down, five more plunged in to take its place. They would have to come up with a better plan than this if they were going last much longer.

It was then that Qui-Gon felt a sudden spark from Obi-Wan.

"Qui-Gon!" the boy called to him without breaking concentration. "Move inside the cave. We can block the entrance with their bodies and keep them from getting in!"

Now why hadn't he thought of that? Berating himself for focusing too much on his own inner turmoil, Qui-Gon acknowledged him with a nod.

Together they backed up into the cave entrance. The draigons followed after, shrieking with greed and rage.

The plan worked. Dead draigons began to fall at the mouth of the cave, piling up and sealing it off.

By that time Clat'Ha had arrived, Si Treemba and a large group of revived Arconans on her heels.

Together they quickly blocked the cave entrance.

Unfortunately it wasn't the only one leading into the caves.

Shrieks began to fill the air behind them.

"Quickly, Obi-Wan!"

Leaving Clat'Ha and her band of Arconans to guard the blocked opening Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan raced away, down through the tunnels to find the next weak point in their defence.

Whiphid bodies littered the ground outside the second entrance. Trying as they were to fight the draigons in the open.

The Jedi called desperately to the survivors, urging them inside to follow Obi-Wan's plan. They caught on quickly and Qui-Gon soon found himself fighting alongside his former enemies.

But the Hutts and Whiphids were only half the fighting force. Deep inside the earth, the cave dwelling Arconans came into their element.

As the main entrances became blocked, the crazed beasts outside began to tunnel through the earth and rock, creating their own pathways into the cave system.

But not one caught the Arconan defenders by surprise.

They proved so capable and fierce in their defence that they began to earn the respect and awe of their Offworld rivals. So much so that the Whiphids left them to their own devices and went back to the main entrances.

Nightfall was nearing on the rain washed planet, and the weak glow of two moons found Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan still fighting in the last entrance to their shelter. No signs of weariness were displayed. Qui-Gon was careful to look for evidence of exhaustion in his young counterpart. But he needn't have worried. Connected so closely to Qui-Gon and the Force, Obi-Wan's movements were nearly as strong and as sure as when the fight began. As good a partner as Qui-Gon could have asked for had his life been different.

And as the bloody hours passed, Qui-Gon felt the pain of the new bond gradually recede and a tentative peace began to settle over him

Together they certainly made a formidable team and by true night fall there came at last a change on the air. Mouths singed and burning, the battle cries of the draigons eventually turned into signals for retreat.

As one the whole flock broke off their attack on the refugees of the _Monument_. Twice they circled over head until with one last ear splitting shriek of defeat they winged away back towards the open sea.

There was silence for a moment, nobody able to believe the attack was finally over. Weapons remained clutched tight in their owners' hands. Senses remained alert. Nobody even dared to breath. But after several minutes, the truth finally sank in and a ragged cheer went up from the defenders.

Relief and joy filled the air and Arconan and Offworld workers alike surrounded the Jedi in thanks. One giant Whiphid even went so far as to clap Obi-Wan on the back, much to the young man's surprise.

They had done it.

As the applause for them died down, Obi-Wan's eyes lifted to find Qui-Gon's and to the Jedi Master it seemed that the blue-green orbs were aglow with an inner light.

For the first time in his life the boy had felt the Force flow purely through his veins. Connected purely with Qui-Gon. Joy radiated from him

In that moment Qui-Gon wanted so much to share that joy. He wanted to bask in that light and be in the dark no longer. He struggled with himself, fought against the dark, but it clung tenaciously, refusing to let him feel anything he might have felt.

Sorrow and anger tore through him.

_Why? Why? Why? _

Why did the memory of Xanatos continue to rob him of so much?

His former apprentice's face rose in his mind to overlay Obi-Wan's. It seemed to him as if it were almost gloating. Qui-Gon recoiled. _Why __can__'__t __I __be __free __of __you?_ He railed silently at the vision.

Exhaustion flooded him and he suddenly felt bone weary.

Unable to face the boy before him any longer, Qui-Gon mustered the effort to at least clasp Obi-Wan's shoulder briefly before turning away. Hiding his turmoil from the bright soul, he walked away without trusting himself to speak a single word.

The confusion and hurt that followed him was like a dagger to Qui-Gon's heart. Tears pricked his eyes for the cruel Fate that had ruined his life and had now expanded to ruin others.

He couldn't go on like this anymore!

_No __you __can__'__t_, the Force pricked at him and in the midst of his despair there came a light. His mind remembered the fierce emotions that had blazed forth when Obi-Wan had lain at the feet of Jemba the Hutt. Searing their way past the deep wounds in his heart.

He remembered the peace and rightness he had felt when they had fought together.

Those feelings had been real. The loss of Xanatos hadn't driven them from him fully. And that knowledge gave him something to cling to.

Hope? Could it be enough?

Shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, Qui-Gon shouldered past the celebrating passengers and out of the cave.

A pair of saddened blue-green eyes followed him. But he did not dare look back. Not until he had found some peace within himself.

Alone, he walked out into the night.

**(*)*(*)*(*)**

_I just need time,_

_My heart is numb, has no feeling_

_So while I am still healing_

_Just try and have a little patience_

_Have a little patience _

_Cause these scars run so deep_

_It's been hard_

_But I have to believe_

_Just have a little patience_


	6. Chapter 5

Part 5

Two days passed and no further crisis arose to trouble the passengers of the _Monument_. The draigons kept their distance and by the third morning everyone was preparing to continue their journey to Bandomeer. An activity that was thanks entirely to the feverish work of the ship's crew and two obliging Jedi. Through their efforts the _Monument_ was once again space worthy.

Well, as space worthy as it ever was at least.

Qui-Gon folded his arms, watching over the proceedings from a nearby hilltop as groups of Arconans rushed here and there. He was glad to note that none of them looked any the worse for their ordeal. When he had finally returned for the rest of the dactyl, nobody had protested, and now the entire colony was back to full health. His eyes shifted. Offworlders were down there too, willingly helping their former Arconan rivals. With the death of Jemba, Clat'Ha had cunningly brought out nearly all of the Offworld contracts. Those workers were now headed for fairer, freer lives, thanks in full to the bright, red-headed young woman.

Everyone was happy it seemed. Everyone, that is, but what of himself? Qui-Gon's thoughts turned inward. Since the battle he had meditated until his knees were raw, paced a trench into the ground and thrown himself into repair work, all in an attempt to re-find his centre. And still he was no closer to understanding what he should do when it came to a certain Obi-Wan Kenobi. Qui-Gon sighed. At least his efforts had brought him some measure of clarity. Something he definitely hadn't had two days ago.

Sharp blue eyes sought out the now familiar form of the boy. He was down among the workers, laughing with Si Treemba as he leant the young Arconan a hand in packing his belongings back aboard the ship. As Qui-Gon watched a rare shaft of sun broke through the clouds. The light hit the boy, catching Obi-Wan's hair and setting the dark auburn hue alive with flames of red. The pale skin glowed for the first time in days, seeming to finally reflect the light within. If nothing else, that was one thing Qui-Gon could see clearly now. What Yoda had seen from the start. Obi-Wan Kenobi was a true light in the Force. Thoughtful, selfless and brave - complete with a twist of wry humour that surfaced at moments to tug a smile even from his lips.

He couldn't deny it. He had grown to care deeply for the boy. More than he had ever thought possible. Obi-Wan had saved his life-twice-and one couldn't walk away with that knowledge and not feel _something_. And he did. It was there, straining to exist beneath the murk as it was. But again, did he want that connection after everything he'd said and done? Even two days ago he would have openly rebelled against the idea. Now...

Now things had changed. He found himself wanting to live again. And Obi-Wan was the one that had made it so. In little under a week since the boy had been thrust into his life, Obi-Wan had driven him to the very limits of his tolerance, twisting the thorn of his past ever deeper into his side. He had upset him, confused him, _angered_ him and in the end... had wrenched him back to face the light. Qui-Gon shook his head. At times he couldn't believe it. But there it was. His gaze softened. That boy was no farmer. There stood a Jedi if ever he had seen one. And despite the rocky ups and downs of their relationship thus far he had become, in some strange way, accustomed to having the boy around. And that was the part of him that was ready to cast aside doubt, to go down to the ship and accept Obi-Wan into his life once and for all. As his Padawan Learner. Maybe it _was_the will of the Force.

Yet still he held back. Was this tentative step he had taken enough? It was not just a question of wanting. Could he give the boy everything he needed from a Master? His time, his affection… his trust. Ah, yes, the most difficult of all. Trust. He did not know. And that was what kept him firmly rooted to the spot. He already had enough of a bond with Obi-Wan. If he completed it and then found he could never give all of himself to the relationship, he would end up damaging the boy far more than he would if he pulled away now. The boy was better off becoming a farmer than coming to that fate. It would be his downfall and Qui-Gon couldn't - wouldn't - do that to him—

"Master Jinn." Obi-Wan's clear voice broke into his musings. "Master Jinn," the boy was coming up the hill towards him. He was slightly hesitant as if afraid to intrude upon the Master's solitude. "The ship's ready to leave, Master. I… thought you might like to know."

Qui-Gon graced him with a gentle smile. "Thank-you, Obi-Wan," he said simply. "I'll be along in a minute."

The boy nodded. He looked quizzically at Qui-Gon for a moment longer before turning and walking away back towards the ship. Qui-Gon watched him go, eyes knowing. He could sense Obi-Wan's confusion; it roiled just beneath the surface. The boy couldn't understand why Qui-Gon was still hesitating and at times Qui-Gon could see the impatience lurking behind those blue-green eyes. The boy, like Yoda, seemed certain that they were meant to be and that Qui-Gon was now just being a stubborn old gundark. Qui-Gon's lips twitched. Maybe he was. But with good reason and the boy would just have to be patient with him. The legacy of Xanatos had not yet left him. He had to accept that if he were to heal. He could hide from it no longer. This mission had placed his feet on the road to recovery. But if that recovery would come in time to save Obi-Wan, he could not say. Only time would tell. Not the answer either of them would be happy with, but it was the right one. He, like the boy, would just have to wait.

Until then he would keep an eye on Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Decided and feeling slightly more at peace, Qui-Gon gathered his cloak close about him and started down the hill after Obi-Wan. In moments he had caught up to the boy. Uncertain eyes flashed up at him and Qui-Gon caught them. Speaking no words he laid a reassuring hand upon the young shoulder and pressed ever so slightly.

A quick flicker of hope cut through the murk of uncertainty and Obi-Wan smiled.

Together they walked onto the ship.

Bandomeer was beckoning…

**(*)*(*)*(*)**

_Have a little patience, _

_Just have a little patience, _

_Cause I, I just need time, _

_My heart is numb, has no feeling,_

_So while I'm still healing, just try, and have a little patience._

_I just need time _

_My heart is numb, has no feeling, _

_So while I'm still healing, just try, and have a little… _

_Patience._

Fin


End file.
